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Book —Ai—^ 

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CHILDE HAROLD'S 



PILGRIMAGE. 



!2l Komannt, 



BY 



LORD BYRON. 



% ifto mtim. 



EDITED BY 



THOMAS MOORE, ESQ 



BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 

1858. 




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CHILDE HAROLD'S 
PILGRIMAGE. 

A ROMAU^T. 



L'univers est une espftce de Ivyre, dont on n'a lu que la premiere page quand <m 
n*a vu que son pays. J'en ai feuillete un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouvft 
^gaiCment mauvaises. Get examen ne m'a point fetfe infructueux. Je haissais m© 
patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai vecu 
m'ont r6concilife avec elle. Cluand je n'aurais tirfe d'autre b6n6fice de mes voyageii 
que celuHlk, jo n'en regretterais ni les frais ni les fatigues. 

Le Cosmopolitb. 



PREFACE 

(TO THE FIRST AND SECOND CANTOS.) 



The following poem was written, for the most part, amidst the 
scenes which it attempts to describe. It was begun in Albania ; 
and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were composed from 
the author's observations in those countries. Thus much it may 
be necessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. 
The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, Portugal, 
Epirus, Acarnania, and Greece. There, for the present, the poem 
stops : its reception will determine whether the author may ven- 
ture to conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through 
Ionia and Phrygia : these two cantos are merely experimental. 

A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some 
connection to the piece ; which, however, makes no pretension to 
regularity. It has been suggested to me by friends, on whose 
opinions I set a high value, that in this fictitious character, 
" Childe Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having intended 
some real personage : this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim 
— Harold is the child of imagination, for the purpose I have 
stated. In some very trivial particulars, and those merely local, 
there might be grounds for such a notion ; but in the main points, 
I should hope, none whatever. 

It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation 
" Childe," as " Childe Waters," " Childe Childers," &c. is used 
as more consonant with the old structure of versification which I 
have adopted. The " Good Night," in the beginning of the first 
canto, was suggested by " Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in the 
Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott. 

With the different poems which have been published on Spanish 
subjects, taere may be found some slight coincidence in the first 
part, which treats of the Peninsula, but it can only be casual ; as, 
with the exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of this 
poem was written in the Levant. 

The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most success- 
ful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the fol- 
lowing observation : " Not long ago I began a poem in the style 
and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give fisll scope to 
my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sen 
timental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me ; foi if I 
mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equallv of 



4 PREFACE- 

all these kinds of composition." (^) — Strengthened in my opinion 
by such authority, and by the example of some in the highest 
order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at 
similar variations in the following composition ; satisfied that, if 
they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execution, 
rather than in the design sanctioned by the practice of AriostOf 
Thomson, and Beattie. 

(1) Beattie's Letters. 



ADDITION 

TO THE PREFACE. 

I HAVE now waited till almost all our periodical journals have 
distributed their usual portion of criticism. To the justice of the 
generality of their criticisms I have nothing to object : it \v uld 
ill become me to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, 
when, perhaps, if they had been less kind they had been more 
candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best thanks for 
their liberality, on one point alone shall I venture an observation. 
Amongst the many objections justly urged to the very indifferent 
character of the " vagrant Childe" (whom notwithstanding many 
hints to the contrary, I still maintain to be a fictitious personage), 
it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he is very im- 
hnightly, as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honour, 
and so forth. Now, it so happens that the good old times, when 
" I'amour du bon vieux tems, I'amour antique " flourished, were 
the most profligate of all possible centuries. Those who have 
any doubts on this subject may consult St. Palaye, passim^ and 
more particularly vol. ii. page 69. The vows of chivalry were 
no better kept than any other vows whatsoever ; and the songs 
of the Troubadours were not more decent, and certainly were 
much less refined, than those of Ovid. The " Cours d'amour, 
parlemens d'amour, ou de courtesie et de gentilesse " had much 
more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland on 
the same subject with St. Palaye. Whatever other objection 
may be urged to that most unamiable personage Childe Harold, 
he was so far perfectly knightly in his attributes — " No waiter, 
but a knight templar." Q) By the by, I fear that Sir Tristrem 
and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, although 
very poetical personages and true knights " sans peur," though 
not " sans reproche." If the story of the institution of the " Gar- 
ter " be not a fable, the knights of that order have for several 
centuries borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indit- 
ferent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have 
regretted that its days are over, though Maria Antoinette was 
quite as chaste as most of those in whose honours lances were 
shivered, and knights unhorsed. 

Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph 
Banks, (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern 
times,) few exceptions will be found to this statement, and I fear 

(1) Ths Rovers. Antijacobin. 
1* * 



6 PREFACE. 

a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous 
mummeries of the middle ages. 

I now leave " Childe Harold," to Hve his day, such as he is ; it 
had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have drawn 
an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, 
to make him do more and express less, but he never was intended 
as an example, further than to show that early perversion of mind 
and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and disappointment 
in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimu- 
lus of travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all excite- 
ments) are lost on a soul so constituted, or rather misdirected. 
Had I proceeded with the poem, this character would have deep 
ened as he drew to the close ; for the outline which I once mean 
to jfill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a mo 
dam Timon, perhaps a poetical Zeluco. 



TO lANTHE. 



Not in those climes where I have late been straying, 
Though BeaLity long hath there been matchless deem'a : 
Not in those visions to the heart displaying 
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd, 
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd : 
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek 
To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd — 
To such as see thee not my words were weak ; 
To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak 1 

Ah ! may'st thou ever be what now thou art, 
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, 
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart. 
Love's image upon earth without his wing. 
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining ! 
And surely she who now so fondly rears 
Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening. 
Beholds the rainbow of her future years. 
Before whose heavenly hues all soitow disappears. 

Young Peri of the West ! — 'tis well for me 
My years alreauy doubly number thine ; 
My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee, 
And safely view thy ripening beauties shine ; 
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline ; 
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed, 
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign 
To those whose admiration shall succeed, 
But mix'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed. 

Oh ! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's, 
*Vow brightly bold or beautifully shy. 
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells, 
Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny 
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh, 
Could I to thee be ever more than friend : 
This much, dear maid, accord ; nor question why 
To one so young my strain I would commend. 
But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend. 



8 TO lANTHE. 

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined ; 
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast 
On Harold's page, lanthe's here enshrined 
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last ; 
Mv days once number'd, should this homage past 
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre 
Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, 
Such is the most my memory may desire ; 
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less re- 
quire? 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



CANTO THE FIRST 



Oh, thou ! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, 
Muse ! form'd or fabled at the minstrel's will I 
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth. 
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill : 
Yet there I've wander'd by thy vaunted rill ; 
Yes ! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine, (*) 
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still ; 
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine 
To grace so plain a tale — this lowly lay of mine. 




II. 

Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth. 
Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight ; 
But spent his days in riot most uncouth. 
And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. 
Ah, me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight, 
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; 
Few earthly things found favour in his sight 
Rave concubines and carnal companie. 
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. 

(1) The little village of Castri stands partly on the site of Delphi. Along the path 
of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains of sepulchres hewn in and from the 
rock. " One ?' said the guide, ** of a king who broke his neck hunting." His 
majesty had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little 
above Castri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth ; the upper part of 
it is paved, and now a cow-house. On the other side of Casiri stands a Greek mo- 
nastery ; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns 
difficult of ascent, and apparently leading to the mtenor of the mountain ; probably 
to the Corycian Cavern mentioned by Pausanias. From this part desceV ^e foun- 
tain and the " Dews of Castalie.'* 



10 CHiLDE Harold's 



CAMTO t 



III. 

Childe Harold was he hight : — but whence his name 
And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; 
Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame, 
And had been glorious in another day : 
But one sad losel soils a name for aye, 
However mighty in the olden time : 
Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, 
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, 
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. 



IV. 

Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun. 
Disporting there like any other fly ; 
Nor deem'd before his little day was done 
One blast might chill him into misery. 
But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by. 
Worse than adversity the Childe befell ; 
He felt the fulness of satiety : 
Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, 
Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad celL 

V. 

For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run. 
Nor made atonement when he did amiss, 
.Had sighM to many though he loved but one. 
And that loved one, alas ! could ne'er be his. 
Ah, happy she ! to 'scape from him whose kiss 
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste ; 
Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss. 
And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste. 
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned to taste. 

VI. 

And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart. 
And from his fellow bacchanals would flee ; 
'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, * 

But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee : 
Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie, 
And from his native land resolved to go, 
And visit scorching climes beyond the sea ; 
With pleasure drugg'd, he almost long'd for woe. 
And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below 



CAXTOI. 



PILGRIMAGE. 11 



VII. 



The Childe departed from his father's hall : 
It was a vast and venerable pile ; 
So old, it seemed only not to fall, 
Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. 
?vIonastic dome ! condemn'd to uses vile ! 
Where Superstition once had made her den 
Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile ; 
And monks might deem their time was come agen 
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. 

VIII. 

Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood 
Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow, 
As if the memory of some deadly feud 
Or disappointed passion lurk'd below : 
But this none knew, nor haply cared to know ; 
For his was not that open, artless soul 
That feels relief by bidding 'sorrow flow. 
Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, 
Whate'er this giief mote be, which he could not control. 

IX. 

And none did love him — though to hall and bower 
He gather'd revellers from far and near. 
He knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour ; 
The heartless parasites of present cheer. 
Yea ! none did love him — not his lemans dear — 
But pomp and power alone are woman's care. 
And where these are light Eros finds a feere ; 
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, 
And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair. 

X. 

Childe Harold had a mother — not forgot, 
Though parting from that mother he did shun ; 
A sister whom he loved, but saw her not 
Before his weary pilgrimage begun : 
If friends he had, he bade adieu to none. 
Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel ; 
Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon 
A few dear objects, will in sadness feel 
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal. 



VI CHiLDE Harold's ca^tpi 

XI. 

His house, his home, his heritage, his lands, 
The laughing dames in whom he did delight. 
Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands, 
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite. 
And long had fed his youthful appetite ; 
His goblets brimm'd with every Mostly wine. 
And all that mote to luxury invite. 
Without a sigh he left, to cross the brine. 
And traverse Paynim shores, and pass Earth's central line. 



XII. 

The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew, 
As glad to waft him from his native home ; 
And fast the white rocks faded from his view, 
And soon were lost in circumambient foam : 
And then, it may be, of his wish to roam 
Repented he, but in his bosom slept 
The siierit thought, nor from his lips did come 
One TW9^d of wail, whilst others sate and wept, 
And to the reckless gales unmanly moaning kept. 

XIII. 

But when the sun was sinking in the sea 
He seized his harp, which he at times could string. 
And strike, albeit with untaught melody. 
When deem'd he no strange ear was listening : 
And now his fingers o'er it he did fling, 
And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight. 
While flew the vessel on her snowy M'ing, 
And fleeting shores receded from his sight. 
Thus to the elements he pour'd his last " Good Night.** 

1. 

" Adieu, adieu ! my native shore 

Fades o'er the waters blue ; 
The Night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 

And shrieks the wild seamew. 
Yon Sun that sets upon the sea 

We follow in his flight ; 
Farewell awhile to him and thee, 

Mj native Land — Good Night I 



i'KSro i» 



PILGRIMAGE. \8 

2. 

*• A few short hours and He will rise 

To give the morrow birth ; 
And I shall hail the main and skies, 

But not my mother Earth. 
Deserted is my own good hall, 

Its hearth is desolate ; 
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall ; 

My dog howls at the gate. 

3. 
" Come hither, hither, my little page ! 

Why dost thou weep and wail ? 
Or dost thou dread the billows' rage. 

Or tremble at the gale 1 
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye ; 

Our ship is swift and strong : 
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly 

More merrily along." 

4. 

* Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high 

I fear not wave nor wind ; 
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I 

Am sorrowful in mind ; 
For I have from my father gone, 

A mother whom I love. 
And have no friend, save these alone, 

But thee — and one above. 

6. 

* My father bless'd me fervently. 

Yet did not much complain ; 
But sorely will my mother sigh 

Till I come back again.' — 
** Enough, enough, my little lad ! 

Such tears become thine eye ; 
If I thy guileless bosom had. 

Mine own would not be dry. 

6. 
** Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman* 

Why dost thou look so pale ? 
Or dost thou dread a French foeman 
Or shiver at the gale 1 " 
2 




M CHILDE Harold's 

* Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ? 

Sir Childe, I'm not so weak ; 
But thinking on an absent wife 

Will blanch a faithful cheek. 

7. 

» My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall 

Along the bordering lake, 
And when they on their father call, 

What answer shall she make 1 ' — 
" Enough, enough, my yeoman good, 

Thy grief let none gainsay ; 
But I, who am of hghter mood, 

Will laugh to flee away. 

8. 

" For who would trust the seeming sighs 

Of wife or paramour 1 
Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes 

We late saw streamins o'er. 
For pleasures past 1 do not grieve, 

Nor perils gathering near ; 
My greatest grief is that I leave 

No thing that claims a tear. 

9. 

" And now I'm in the world alone. 

Upon the wide, wide sea : 
But why should I for others groan. 

When none will sigh for me 1 
Perchance my dog will whine in vain. 

Till fed by stranger hands ; 
But long ere I come back again, 

He'd tear me where he stands. 

10. 

" With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go 

Athwart the foaming brine ; 
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, 

So not again to mine. 
Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves ? 

And when you fail my sight, 
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves ! 

My native I^and — Good Night ! " 



CANTO I. 



iilNTO I. 



•ILGRIMAGE. 10 



XIV. 



On, on the vessel flies, the land is gone. 
And winds are rude in Biscay's sleepless bay. 
Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon. 
New shores descried make every bosom gay ; 
And Cintra's mountain greets them on their way, 
And Tagus dashing onward to the deep. 
His fabled golden tribute bent to pay ; 
And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, 
And steer 'twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap^ 



XV. 



Oh, Christ ! it is a goodly sight to see 
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land ! 
What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree ! 
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand ! 
But man would mar them with an impious hand : 
And when the Almighty lifts his fiercest scourge 
'Gainst those who most transgress his high command 
With treble vengeance will his hot shafts urge 
Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemen purge. 

XVI. 

What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold ! 
Her image floating on that noble tide. 
Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, 
But now whereon a thousand keels did ride 
Of mighty strength, since Albion was allied. 
And to the Lusians did her aid afford : 
A nation swoln with ignorance and pride. 
Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves- the sword 
To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord 

XVII. 

But whoso entereth within this town, 
That, sheening far, celestial seems to be. 
Disconsolate will wander up and down, 
'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee ; 
For hut and palace show like filthily : 
The dingy denizens are rear'd in dirt ; 
Ne personage of high or mean degree 
Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt. 
Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd, un- 
hurt. 



10 CHiLDE Harold's ^ canto i. 



xvin. 

Poor, paltry slaves ! yet born 'midst noblest scenes — 
Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men 1 
Lo ! Cintra's glorious Eden intervenes 
In variegated maze of mount and glen. 
Ah, me ! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, 
To follow half on which the eye dilates 
Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken 
Thac those whereof such things the bard relates. 
Who to the awe-struck world unlock'd Elysium's gates ? 



XIX. 

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd. 
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep. 
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imbrown'd, 
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, 
Th^lfender azure of the unruffled deep, 

. The* or'^ge tints that gild the greenest bough, 
•The fqiaJnts that from cliff" to valley leap. 
The vin4 on high, the willow branch below, 

Mix'd in one mighty scene, with varied beauty glow. 



XX. 

Then slowly climb the many- winding way, 
And frequent turn to linger as you go, 
From loftier rocks new loveliness survey 
And rest ye at " Our Lady's house of woe ; " (*) 
Where frugal monks their little relics show, 
And sundry legends to the stranger tell 
Here impious men have punish'd been, and lo ! 
Deep in yon cave Honorius long did dwell, 
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell. 

I) The Convent of " Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Senora de Pena, on 
the summit of the rock. Below, at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. 
Hcnoiius duff his den, over which is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to 
the beauty of the view. — [Since the publication of this poem, I have been informed 
of the misapprehension of the terra Nossa Senora de Pena. It was owing to the 
want of the fiZrfe, or mark over the «, which alters the signification of the word: 
witn It, Peila ?ignifies a rock; without it, Pena has the sense T adopted. I do not 
think it necessary to alter the passage ; as though th 3 common acceptation affixed to 
It IS " Our Lady of the Rock," I may well assume the other sense from the sev»- 
rities practised there.] 



ff*»T» li 



PILGRIMAGE. IT 



XXI. 



And here and there, as up the crags you spring, 
Mark many rude-carved crosses, near the path ; 
Yet deem not these devotion's offering — 
These are memorials frail of murderous wrath : 
For wheresoe'er the shrieking victim hath 
Pour'd forth his blood beneath the assassin's knife, 
Some hand erects a cross of mouldering lath ; 
And grove and glen with thousand such are rife 
Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. ( ) 



XXII. 




On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, 
Are domes where vvhilome kings did make repair ; 
But now the wild flowers round them only breathe ; 
Yet ruin'd splendour still is lingering there. 
And yonder towers the Prince's palace fair : 
There thou too, Vathek ! England's wealthies 
Once form'd thy Paradise, as not aware 
When wanton Wealth her mightiest deeds hath 
Meek Peace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shunr 



XXIII. 

Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, 
Beneath yon mountain's ever beauteous brow : 
But now, as if a thing unblest by Man, 
Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou ! 
Here giant weeds a passage scarce allow 
To halls deserted, portals gaping wide ; 
Fresh lessons to the thinking bosom, how 
Vain are the pleasaunces on earth supplied ; 
Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide ! 

(I) It is a well known fact, that in the year 1809 the assassinations in the streets 
of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined by the Portuguese to their countrymen, 
but that Englishmen were daily butchered : and so far from redress being obtained, 
we were requested not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot defendmg himseH 
agamst his allies. I was once stopped in the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in 
the evening, when the streets were not more empty than they generally are at that 
hour, opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend : had we not fortu- 
nately been armed, I have not the least doubt that we should have " adorned a tale " 
instead of tellmg one. The crime of assassination is not confined to Portugal : in 
Sichy and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly and 
not a Sicilian 9t Maltose is ever punished ! 

2* 



16 CHiLDE Harold's caoto i. 



XXIV. 

Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened ! (*) 
Ob ! dome displeasing unto British eye ! 
With diadem hight foolscap, lo ! a fiend, 
A little fiend that scoflTs incessantly, 
There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by 
His side is hung a seal and sable scroll. 
Where blazon'd glare names known to chivalry, 
And sundry signatures adorn the roll, 
WTiereat the Urchin points and laughs with all his soul. 

XXV. 

Convention is the dwarfish demon styled 
That foil'd the knights in Marialva's dome : 
Of brains (if brains they had) he them beguiled, 
And turn'd a nation's shallow joy to gloom. 
Here Folly dash'd to earth the victor's plume. 
And Pohcy regain'd what arms had lost : 
For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom ! 
Woe to the conqu'ring, not the conquer'd host, 
Since baffled Triumph droops on Lusitania's coast. 

XXVI. 

And ever since that martial synod met, 
Britannia sickens, Cintra ! at thy name ; 
And folks in office at the mention fret. 
And fain would blush, if blush they could, for shame* 
How will posterity the deed proclaim ! 
Will not our own and fellow-nations sneer. 
To view these champions cheated of their fame, 
By foes in fight o'erthrown, yet victors here. 
Where Scorn her finger points through many a coming yeai ? 



XXVII. 

So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he 
Did take his way in solitary guise : 
Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to flee. 
More restless than the swallow in the skies : 
Though here a while he learn'd to moralize, 

(1) T\Se Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the Marchess Mar^ 
alva. The late exploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of CintrSk. 
He hts, indeed, done wonders ; he has perhaps changed the character of a natioA^ 
reconciled rival superstitions, and baffled an enemy who never retreated before htf 
predecessors. 



cahto I. 



PILGRIMAGE. Ife 



For Meditation fix'd at times on him ; 
And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise 
His early youth, mispent in maddest whim ; 
But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew diitt. 



XXVIII. 

To horse ! to horse ! he quits, for ever quits 
A scene of peace, though soothing to his soul : 
Again he rouses from his moping fits, 
But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. 
Onward he flies, nor fix'd as yet the goal 
Where he shall rest him on his pilgrimage ; 
And o'er him many changing scenes must roll 
Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, 
Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage. 



XXIX. 

Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay, (^) 
Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen ; 
And church and court did mingle their array, 
And mass and revel were alternate seen ; 
Lordlings and freres — ill-sorted fry I ween ! 
But here the Babylonian whore hath built 
A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, 
That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, 
And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt. 



XXX. 

O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, 
(Oh, that such hills upheld a freeborn race !) 
Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, 
Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place. 
Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, 
And marvel men should quit their easy chair. 
The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, 
Oh ! there is sweetness in the mountain air, 
And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share. 



(\) The extent of Mafra is prodigious ; it contains a palace, convent, and most 
Superb church. The six organs are the most beauiiful I ever beheld, in point ol 
dicoration ; we did not hear them, but were told that their tones were corresnondeut 
to their splendour. Mafra is teimed the £scurial of Portugal. 



20 CHiLDE Harold's cj^wto ^ 

XXXI. 

More bleak to view the hills at length recede, 
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend ; 
Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed ! 
Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, 
Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend 
Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader knows — 
Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend : 
For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes. 
And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's woeb 

XXXII. 

Where Lusitania and her Sister meet, 
Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide ? 
Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, 
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide 1 
Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride? 
Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ? — 
Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, 
Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall. 
Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gau] s 

XXXIII. 

But these between a silver streamlet glides, 
And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, 
Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. 
Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook. 
And vacant on the rippling waves doth look. 
That peaceful still 'tvvixt bitterest foemen flow ; 
For proud each peasant as Ihe noblest duke : 
Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know 
'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low. (*) 

XXXIV. 

But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd, 
Dark Guadiana rolls his power along 
In sullen billows, murmuring and vast. 
So noted ancient roundelays among. 
Whilome upon his banks did legions throng 
Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splendour drest : 
Here ceased the swift their race, here sunk the strong ; 
The Paynim turban and the Christian crest 
Mix'd on the bleeding stream, by floating hosts oppressM. 

(1) As I found the Portuguese, so I have characterized them. That thev ar« 
•^ce itnprovud, at least in courage, is evident. 



•AUTO f. 



PILGRIMAGE. 21 



XXXV. 



Oh, lovely Spian ! renown'd, romantic land ! 
Where is that standard which Pelagic bore, 
When Cava's traitor-sire, first call'd the band 
That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore ? (*) 
Where are those bloody banners which of yore 
Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale. 
And drove at last the spoilers to their shore 1 
Red gleam'd the cross, and m aned the crescent pale 
While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' wail. 



XXXVIi 

Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale 1 ,-^^(i**** 

Ah ! such, alas ! the hero's amplest fate ! ^^S^V^-^ 

When granite moulders and when records fail, Jq^: ;v 
A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. flJtVH^t^'^ 
Pride ! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estawjvf^)". * 
See how the Mighty shrink into a song ! X^tT"f "^ W 

Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great 1 ^^"^-ULi,^ 
Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, 
When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does the« 
wrong 1 

XXXVII. 

Awake, ye sons of Spain ! awake ! advance ! 
Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ; 
But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance. 
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies : 
Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, 
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar : 
In every peal she calls — " Awake ! arise ! " 
Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore. 
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore ? 

XXXVIII. 

Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ? 
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? 
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ; 
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves 1 — the fires of death, 

'1) Count Julian's daughter, the Helen of Spain, Pelagius preserved his ind»< 
oendence in the fastnesses of the Asturias, and the descendants of his follower* 
after some centuries, completed their struggle by the conquest of Grenada. 



22 CHiLDE Harold's c«lw 

The bale-fires flash on high : — from rock to rock 
Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; 
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. 

XXXIX. 

Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, 
His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun, 
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; 
J:, stless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon 
Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet 
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ; 
For on this morn three potent nations meet. 
To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet* 

XL. 

By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see 
(For one who hath no friend, no brother there) 
Their rival scarfs of mix'd embroidery, 
Their various arms that glitter in the air ! 
What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair 
And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey ! 
All join the chase, but few the triumph share ; ' 
The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, 
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. 

XLI. 

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; 
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies ; 
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory! 
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally 
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain. 
Are met — as if at home they could not die — 
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, 
And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain- 

XLII. 

There shall they rot — Ambition's honour'd fools 
Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay! 
Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools, 
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away 
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way 



TAIfTO I. 



PILGRIM IGE. 23 



With human hearts — to what ? — a dream alone. 
Can despots compass aught that hails their sway? 
Or call with truth one span of earth their own, 
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone ? 

XLIII. 

Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief"! 
As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed, 
Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, 
A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed I 
Peace to the perish'd ! may the warrior's meed 
And tears of triumph their reward prolong 
Till others fall where other chieftains lead 
Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng. 
And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song! 

XLIV. 

Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play 

Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame : 

Fame that will scarce re-animate their clay, 

Though thousands fall to deck some single name. 

In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim 

Who strike, blest hirelings ! for their country's good. 

And die, that living might have proved her shame ; 

Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud. 

Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. 

XLV. 

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way 
Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued : 
Yet is she free — the spoiler's wish'd-for prey ! 
Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, 
Blackening her lovely domes with traces rude. 
Inevitable hour ! 'Gainst fate to strive 
Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood 
Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre, might yet survive, 
And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive. 

XLVI. 

But all unconscious of the coming doom. 
The feast, the song, the revel here abounds ; 
Strange modes of merriment the hours consume, 
Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds 
Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds ; 



24 CHILDE HABOr/n'8 



PANTO t. 



Here Folly still his votaries inthralls ; 
And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds : 
Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, 
Still to the last kind Vice clings to the tott'ring walls. 

XVLII. 

Not so the rustic — with his trembling mate 
He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afar. 
Lest he should view his vineyard desolate, 
Blasted below the dun hot breath of war. 
No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star 
Fandango twirls his jocund castanet : 
Ah, monarchs ! could ye taste the mirth ye mar. 
Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret ; 

The hoarse dull drum would sleep, and Man be happy yet I 

■ ( 

XLVIII. 

How carols now the lusty muleteer ? 
Of love, romance, devotion is his lay, 
As whilome he was wont the leagues to cheer, 
His quick bells wildly jingling on the way ? 
No ! as he speeds, he chants " Viva el Rey ! " 
And checks his song to execrate Godoy, 
The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day 
When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy, 
And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate jo} 

XLIX. 

On yon long, level plain, at distance crown'd 
With crags, whereon those Moorish turrets rest, 
Wide scatter'd hoof-marks dint the wounded ground ; 
And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darken'd vest 
Tells that the foe was Andalusia's guest : 
Here was the camp, the watch-flame, and the host, 
Here the bold peasant storm'd the dragon's nest ; 
Still does he mark it with triumphant boast. 
And points to yonder cliffs, which oft were won and lost. 



And whomsoe'er along the path you meet 

Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue, 

"VMiich tells you whom to shun and whom to greet : (*) 

(1) The red cockade, with " Fernando Septimo" in the centre. 



C4VT0 I. 



PILGRIMAGE. 



26 



Wo to the man that walks in public view 
Without of loyalty this token true : 
Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke ; 
And sorely would the GalHc foeman rue, 
If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke, 
Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's smoke. 



LI. 

At every turn Morena's dusky height : 
Sustains aloft the battery's iron load ; 
And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, 
The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, 
The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflow'd, 
The statipn'd bands, the never-vacant watch, 
The magazine in rocky durance stow'd. 
The holster'd steed beneath the shed of that 
The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match, 



LII. 

Portend the deeds to come : — but he whose nod 
Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, 
A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod ; 
A little moment deigheth to delay : 
Soon will his legions sweep through thes-e their way ; 
The West must own the Scourger of the world. 
Ah ! Spain ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, 
When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings unfurl'd. 
And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurl'd. 



LIII. 

And must they fall ? the young, the proud, the brave, 
To swell one bloated Chief's unwllolesome reign ? 
No step between submission and a grave t 
The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ? 
And doth the Power that man adores ordain 
Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal ? 
Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain 1 
And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal, 
The Veteran's skill. Youth's fire, and Manhood's heart of 
steel 1 




(1) All who have seen a battery will recollect the pyramidal form m which shot 
and shells are piled. The Sierra Morena was fortified in every defile through 
which I passed in my way to Seville, 3 



S6 CHILDE Harold's oavio i* 

LIV. 

Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, 
Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar 
And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused 
Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war? 
And she, whom once the semblance of a scar 
Appall'd, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread. 
Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar, 
The falchion flash, and o'er the yet warm dead 
Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread. 



LV. 

Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, 
Oh ! had you known her in her softer hour, 
Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil. 
Heard her light, lively tones in Lady's bower, 
Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, 
Her fairy form, with more than female grace. 
Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower 
Beheld her smile in Danger's Gorgon face. 
Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase. 



LVI. 

Her lover sinks — she sheds no ill-timed tear ; 
Her chief is slain — she fills his fatal post ; 
Her fellows flee — she checks their base career ; 
The foe retires — she heads the sallying host : 
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost ? 
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall ? 
What maid retrieve when man's flush'd hope is lost . 
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, 
FoiPd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall ? (*) 

LVH. 

Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, 
But form'd for all the witching arts of love ; 
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, 
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 
'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, 

(1) S'lch were the exploits of the Maid of Saragoza. When the author was as 
Sev'tle -he walked daily c«i the Prado, decorated with medals and orders, by coa> 
mand of the Junta. 



OASTO I. 



PILGRIMAGE. 27 



Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate : 
In softness as in firmness far above 
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate ; 
Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great. 



LVIII, 

The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd 
Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch : (*) 
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest, 
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such : 
Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how much 
Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek. 
Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch ! 
"Who round the North for paler dames would seek ? 
How poor their forms appear ! how languid, wan, and weak I 



LIX. 

Match me, ye climes ! which poets love to laud ; 
Match me, ye harams of the land ! where now 
I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud 
Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow ; 
Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow 
To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind, 
With Spain's dark-glancing (daughters — deign to know 
There your wise Prophet's paradise we find. 
His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind. 



LX. 

Oh, thou Parnassus ! {^) whom I now survey, 
Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye, 
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay 
But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky 
In the wild pomp of mountain majesty ! 
What marvel if I thus essay to sing ? 
The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by 
Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, 
Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her 
wing. 

(1) " Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo 

Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem." Aul. Gel, 

(2) These stanzas were written in Castri, (Delphos,) at the foot of Pamasma, 
now called Aiaicvpa — Liakura. 



88 CUILDE HAROLD^S CAVTO l. 

LXI. 

Oft have I dream'd of Thee ! whose glorious name 
Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore ; 
And now I view thee, 'tis, alas ! with shame 
That I in feeblest accents must adore. 
When I recount thy worshippers of yore 
I tremble, and can only bend the knee ; 
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, 
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy 
In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee ! 

LXII. 

Happier in this than mightiest bards have been. 
Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, 
"Shall I unmoved behold the haliow'd scene, 
WJiich others rave of, though they know it not ? 
Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, 
Andkhou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave. 
Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, 
Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave 
And ghdes with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. 

LXIII. 

Of thee hereafter. — Ev'n amidst my strain 
I turn'd aside to pay my homage here ; 
Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain ; 
Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear : 
And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. 
Now to my theme — but from thy holy haunt 
Let me some remnant, some memorial bear ; 
Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, 
Nor let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vaunt. 

LXIV. 

But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount ! when Greece was yOung, 
See round thy giant base a brighter choir. 
Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung 
The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fire, 
Behold a train more fitting to inspire 
The song of love than Andalusia's maids, 
Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire : 
Ah ! that to these were given such peaceful shades 
As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her gladi 8. 



CAHTO I. 



PILGRIMAGE. 



20 



LXV. 

Fair is proud Seville ; let her country boast 
Her strength, her wealth, her site- of ancient days ; (*) 
But C'ldiz, rising on the distant coast, 
Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. 
Ah, Vice ! how soft are thy voluptuous ways 
While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape 
The fascination of thy magic gaze 1 
A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, 
An4 mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. 



LXVI. 



When Paphos fell by time — accursed Time ! 
The Queen who conquers all must yield to thee — 



The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime ; 



And Venus, constant to her native sea, 
To nought else constant, hither deign'd to flee ; 
And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white ; 
Though not to one dome circumscribeth she 
Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, 
A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. 




»»fi*J6i!tL^ 






^? 




LXVII. 

From morn till n5ght, from night till startled Mom; 
Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, 
The song is heard, the rosy garland worn ; 
Devices quaint, and frolics ever new. 
Tread on each other's kibes. 
He bids to sober joy that here sojourns 
Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu 
Of true devotion monkish incense burns, 
And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour bv turns. 



A long adieu 



LXVIII. 

The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest ; 
What hallows it upon this Christian shore ? 
Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast ; 
Hark ! heard you not the forest-monarch's roar? 
Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore 
Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn; 
The throng'd arena shakes with shouts for more ; 
Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, 
Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects to mourn. 



(1) S»irill6 was the Hispalis of the Romans, 



80 CHiLDE Harold's oAmoi. 

LXIX. 

The seventh day this ; the jubilee of man. 
London ! right well thou know'st the day of prayer : 
Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan, 
And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air : 
Thy coach of hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, 
And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl ; 
To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair ; 
Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, 
Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl. 

LXX. 

Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair, 
Others along the safer turnpiJce fly ; 
Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, 
And many to the steep of Highgate hie. 
Ask ye, BcEOtian shades ! the reason why ? (J) 
'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, 
Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery, 
In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn. 
And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn. 

LXXI. 

All have their fooleries — not alike are thine, 
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea ! 
Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine. 
Thy saint adorers count the rosary : 
Much is the ViRGiN.teased to shrive them free 
(Well do I ween the only virgin there) 
From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be ; 
Then to the crowded circus forth they fare : 
Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion share 

LXXII. 

The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd 
Thousands on thousands piled are seated round 
Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard, 
Ne vacant space for lated wight is found : 
Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, 
Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye. 
Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound ; 
None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die 
As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery. 

(1) This was written at Thebes, and consequently in the best situation for ask- 
ing and answering such a question ; not as the birthplace of Pindar, but as the ca« 
pita^ of BcBOtia, where the first riddle was propounded and solved. 



CAVTO I. 



PILGRIMAGE. SI 



LXXIII. 

Hush'd is the din of tongues — on gallant steeds, 
With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-pois'd lanc« 
Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, 
And lowly bending to the lists advance ; 
Rich are their scarfs, theii chargers featly pranco : 
If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, 
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance, 
Best prize of better acts, they bear away, 
And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. 



LXXIV. 

In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd, 
* But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadore 
Stands in the centre, eager to invade 
The lord of lowing herds ; but not before 
The ground,* with cautious tread, is traversed o'er 
Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed : 
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more 
Can man achieve without the friendly steed — 
Alas ! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. 





Thrice sounds the clarion ; lo! the signal falMj^ , " .. 
The den expands, and Expectation mute v^FJ&y ti^ 

Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. ^'*"*-*.-.;ii^*i^' 
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute, 
And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot. 
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe : 
Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit 
His first attack, wide waving to and fro 
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. 

LXXVI. 

Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd : away. 
Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare the spear : 
Now is thy time, to perish, or display 
The skill that yet may check his mad career. 
With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer ; 
On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ; 
Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear : 
He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ; 
Dart foilows dart ; lani^e, lance ; loud bellowings speak hss 
woes. 



83 CHILDE Harold's cAmro i. 

LXXVII. 

Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail, 
Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse ; 
Thrush man and man's avenging arms assail, 
Tain are his weapons, vainer is his force. 
One gallant steed is stretch'd a mangled corse ; 
Another, hideous sight ! unseam'd appears. 
His gory chest unveils life's panting source ; 
Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears ; 
Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he bears. 

LXXVIII. 

Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, 
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay. 
Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, 
And foes disabled in the brutal fray : 
And now the Matadores around him play, ♦ 
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand : 
Once more through all he bursts his thundering way — 
Vain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand. 
Wraps nis fierce eye — 'tis past — he sinks upon the sand ! 

c 

LXXIX. 

Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, 
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. 
He stops — he starts — disdaining to dechne : 
Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries. 
Without a groan, without a struggle dies. 
The decorated car appears — on high 
The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar eyes — 
Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy, 
Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing ; 

LXXX. 

Such the ungentle sport that oft invites 
The Spanish maid, aud cheers the Spanish swain 
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights 
In vengeance gloating on another's pain. 
What private feuds the troubled village stain ! 
Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the foe, 
Enough, alas ! in humble homes remain. 
To meditate 'gainst friends the secret blow. 
For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm stream 
must flow. 



r^JTM I. PILGRIMAGE. 83 

LXXXI. 

But Jealousy has fled : his bais, his bolts, 
His wither'd centinel, Duenna sage ! 
And all whereat the generous soul revolts, 
Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage, 
Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. 
Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen, 
(Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,) 
With braided tresses bounding o'er the green. 
While on the gay dance shone Night's lover-loving Queen ? 

LXXXII. 

Oh ! many a time, and oft, had Harold loved, 
Or dream'd he loved, since Rapture is a dream ; 
But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, ^^ ^rfi»e*»^ 
For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream tyf^'^-:-^ f."^ 
And lately had he learn'd with truth to deeiJcf^, ^ '"'" " " 

Love has no gift so grateful as his wings /:^/ ./\4 )J ^^4^ n*>- 
How fair, how young, how soft soe'er hcB^^pJi I' » <^- '*■" ^' 
Full from the fount of Joy's delicious sprVq)xfi/ 
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venoi 

LXXXIII. 

Yet to the beauteous form he was not blind, 
Though row it moved him as it moves the wise ; 
Not that Philosophy on such a mind 
E'er deign'd to bend her chastely-awful eyes : 
But Passion raves itself to rest, or flies ; 
And Vice, that digs her own voluptuous tomb. 
Had buried long his hopes, no more to rise : 
Pleasure's pall'd victim ! life-abhorring gloom 
Wrote on his faded brow curst Cain's unresting doom. 

LXXXIV. 

Still he beheld, nor mingled with the throng ; 
But view'd them not with misanthropic hate : 
Fain would he now have join'd the dance, the song ; 
But who may smile that sinks beneath his fate ? 
Nought that he saw his sadness could abate : 
Yet once he struggled 'gamst tne demon's sway. 
And as in Beauty's bower he pensive sate, 
Pour'd forth this unpremeditated lay. 
To charms as fair as those that soothed lys happier day. 

(I) " Medio de fonte leporurn 

Surgit amari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat." hvc> 



84 cHiLDE Harold's cjkwtm u 

TO INEZ. 

1. 

Nat, smile not at my sullen brow ; 

Alas ! I cannot smile again : 
Yet Heaven avert that ever thou 

Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain* 

2. 

And dost thou ask, what secret woe 

I bear, corroding joy and youth ? 
And wilt thou vainly seek to know 

A pang, ev'n thou must fail to soothe ? 

3. 

It is not love, it is not hate 

Nor low Ambition's honours lost. 
That bids me loathe my present state, 

And fly from all I prized the most : 

4. 

It is that weariness which springs 

From all I meet, or hear, or see : 
To me no pleasure Beauty brings ; 

Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me. 

5. 
It is that settled, ceaseless gloom 

The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore ; 
That will not look beyond the tomb, 

But cannot hope for rest before. 

6. 

What Exile from himself can flee ? 

To Zones, though more and more remote^ 
Still, still pursues, where-e'er I be, 

The blight of life — the demon Thought. 

7. 

Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, 

And taste of all that I forsake ; 
Oh ! may they still of transport dream. 

And ne'er, at least like me, awalie I 



eAMVO f. 



PILGRIMAGE. 35 



8. 
Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, 

With many a retrospection curst ; 
And all my solace is to know, 

Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. 

9. 

What is that worst ? Nay do not ask — 

In pity from the search forbear : 
Smile on — nor venture to unmask 

Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. 



LXXXV. 

Adieu, fair Cadiz ! yea, a long adieu ! 
Wlio may forget how well thy walls have stood ? 
When all were changing thou alone wort true, 
First to be free and last to be subdued : 
And if amidst a scene, a shocl^so rude. 
Some native blood was seen thy streets to die ; 
A traitor only fell beneath the feud ; {^) 
Here all were noble, save Nobility ; 
None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry I 

LXXXVI. 

Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate I 
They fight for freedom who were never free ; 
A Kingless people for a nerveless state, 
Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee, 
True to the veriest slaves of Treachery : 
Fond of a land which gave them nought but life 
Pride points the path that leads to Liberty ; 
Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife, 
War, war is still the cry, " War even to the knife !" (') 

LXXXVII. 

Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know. 
Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife ; 
Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe 
Can act, is acting there against man's life : 
From flashing scimitar to secret knife, 

il) Alluding to the conduct and death of Solano, the governor of Cadiz. 

(2) " War to the Knife." Palafox's answer to the French general at the siega 
of Saragoza. 



36 CHiLDE Harold's canto t 

War mouldeth there each weapon to his need — 
So may he guard the sister and the wife, 
So may he make each curst oppressor bleed, 
So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed ! 

LXXXVIII. 

Flows there a tear of pity for the dead ? 
Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain ; 
Look on the hands with female slaughter red ; 
Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain. 
Then to the vulture let each corse remain ; 
Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, 
Let their bleach'd bones, and blood's unbleaching stain. 
Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe : 
Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw ! 

LXXXIX. 

Nor yet, alas ! the dreadful work is done ; 
Fresh legions pour ado\Hj the Pyreoees : 
It deepens still, the workls scarce begun, 
Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. 
Fall'n nations gaze on Spain ; if freed, she frees 
More than her fell Pizarros once enchain'd : 
Strange retribution ! now Columbia's ease 
Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd, 
While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder unrestrain'b. 

xc. 
Not all the blood at Talavera shed, 
Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, 
Not Albuera lavish of the dead, 
Have won for Spain her well-asserted right. 
When shall her Olive-Branch be free from blight ? 
When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil 
How many a doubtful day shall sink in night. 
Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, 
And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil ! 

xci. 
And thou, my friend ! (') — since unavailing woe 
Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strain — 

l)The Honourable I*. W**. of the Guards,who died of a fever at Coimbra. I had 
cnown him ten years, the better half of his life, and the happiest part of mine. In 
»he short space of one month, I have lost her who gave me being, and most of tho«e 
WHO had made that being tolerable. To me the lines of Young are no fiction : 



CANTO I. PILGRIMAGE. 87 

Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, 
Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain : 
But thus unlaurePd to descfend in vain, 
By all forgotten, save the lonely breast. 
And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, 
While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest ! 
What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest ? 

XCII. 

Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most ! 
Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear I 
Though to my hopeless days for ever lost. 
In dreams deny me not to see thee here ! 
And Morn in secret shall renew the tear 
Of Consciousness awaking to her woes. 
And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier. 
Till my frail frame return to whence it rose. 
And mourn'd and mourner lie united in repose. ^-='^^^iM^''f^'«^ 

f X§ ■- 1 ^ 

XCIII. /^ ,_ . , ^ ■v.-^^'fefl 




-X 



Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage : „ . 

Ye who of him may further seek to know, Nn^ - ;.t:^c^i^"*^ 

Shall find some tidings in a future page. 
If he that rhymeth now may scribble moe. 
Is this too much 1 stern Critic ! say not so : 
Patience ! and ye shall hear what he beheld 
In other lands, where he was doom'd to go : 
Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, 
Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands were quelPd. 



" Insatiate archer! could not one suffice ? 

Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain, 
And thrice ere thrice yon moon had fill'd her horn." 

I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the late Charles Skinner Mat- 
thews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were he not too much above all 
praise of mine. His powers of mind, shown in the attainment of greater honours, 
against the ablest candidates, than those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, 
have sufficiently established his fame on the spot w.here it was acquired : while Kis 
softer qualifies live in the recollection of friends who loved him tc"0 well to envy his 
superiority. 



CHTLDE HAROLD'S 



PILGRIMAGE. 



CANTO THE SECONDl 



> ^'\- 



It 



11^. 






^-v^ 



'# 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 



I. 

Come, blue-eyed maid of heaven ! — but thou, alas ! 
Didst never yet one mortal song inspire — 
Goddess of Wisdom ! here thy temple was, 
And is, despite of war and wasting fire, (') 
And years, that bade thy worship to expire : 
But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, 
Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire 
Of men who never felt the sacred glow 
That thoughts of thee and thine on pohsh'd breasts bestow. (') 

(1) Part of the Acropolis was destroyed by the explosion of a magazine durinc 
the Venetian siege. 

(2) We can all feel, or imagine, the regret with which the ruins of cities, once 
the capitals of empires, are beheld: the reflections suggested by such oli;er;s are 
too trite to require recapitulation. But never did the httleness of man, and the va- 
nity of his very best virtues, of patriotism to exalt, and of valour to defend his coimtry, 
appear more conspicuous than in the record of what Athens was, and the certainrv 
of what she now is. This theatre of contention between mighty factions, of tlio 
struggles of orators, the exaltation and deposition of tyrants, the triumph and pu- 
nishment of generals, is now become a scene of petty intrigue and perpetual disturb- 
ance, between the bickering agents of certain British nobility and gentry. " The 
wild foxes, the owls and serpents in the ruins of Babylon," were surely less degrad- 
ing than such inhabitants. The Turks have the plea of conquest for their tyranny, 
and the Greeks have only suffered the fortune of war, incidental to the bravest ; ]>ut 
how are the mighty fallen, when two painters contest the privileoe of plunderin^r the 
Parthenon, and triumph in turn, according to the tenor. of each succeeding firman! 
Sylla could but punish, Philip subdue, and Xerxes burn Athens ; but it remained 
for the paltry antiquarian, and his despicable agents, to render her contemptible as 
himself and his pursuits. The Parthenon, before its destruction in part, by fire du- 
ring the Venetian siege, had been a temple, a church, and a mosque. " In each 
point of view it is an object of regard : it changed its worshippers ; but still it was a 
place of worship thrice sacred to devotion : its violation is a triple sacrilege. But 

" Man, vain man, 
Drest in a little brief authority, 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven 
As make the angels weep." 4* 



4S CHILDE Harold's 



CANTO n. 



II. 

Ancient of days ! august Athena ! where, 
Where are thy men of might ? thy grand in soul ? 
Gone — gUmmering through the dream of things that were : 
First in the race that led to Glory's goal, 
They won, and pass'd away — is this the whole 1 
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour ! 
The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole 
Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, 
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. 

III. 
Son of the morning, rise ! approach you here ! 
Come — but molest not yon defenceless urn : 
Look on this spot — a nation's sepulchre ! 
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. 
Even gods must yield — religions take their turn : 
'Twas Jove's — 'tis Mahomet's — and other creeds 
Will rise with other years, till man shall learn 
Yainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; 
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reed». 



IV. 

Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven — 
Is't not enough, unhappy thing ! to know 
Thou art 1 Is this a boon so kindly given. 
That being, thou would'st be again, and go. 
Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so 
On earth no more, but mingled with the skies 1 
Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe 1 
Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies : 
That little urn saith more than thousand homilies. 



V. 

Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound ; 
Far on the solitary shore he sleeps : (^) 
He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around ; 
But now not one of saddening thousands weops, 
Nor warlike-worshipper his vigil keeps 

(1) It was not always the custom of the Greeks to burn their dead ; the {greater 
Ajax, in particular, was interred entire. Almost all the chiefs became gods after 
their decease; and he was indeed neglected, who had not annual games near his 
tomb, or festivals in honour of his memory by his countrymen, as Achilles, Brasidas, 
&c. and at last even Antinous, whose death was as heroic as his life was mfamoua. 



CANTO IK PILGRIMAGE. 43 

Where demi-gods appear'd, as records tell. 
Remove yon skull from out the scatter'd heaps : 
Is that a temple where a God may dwell 1 
Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd cell ! 

vi. 

Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, 
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : 
Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, 
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul ; 
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, 
The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit 
And Passion's host, that never brook'd control : 
Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ. 
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ? 

VII. 

Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! 
" All that we know is, nothing can be known." 
Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun ? 
Each hath his pang, but feeble sufferers groan 
With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. 
Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best ; 
Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : 
There no forced banquet claims the sated guest. 
But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest. 

VIII. 

Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be 

A land of souls beyond that sable shore, , J.^-'^T^' p r"J7 



To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee /-V^ . ""/^ 'CS 

And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore ; n'j^ ' r Vi?'^^V^>fyM' 
How sweet it were in concert to adore (P^^fcP J * ^' . j 

With those who made our mortal labours lightM r^^l^^ JX ■J^^^'l^ 
To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more ! ^^^^^f^- ^^^i^"^' 
Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, " "^' 

The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right ! 

IX. 

There, thou ! — whose love and life together fled. 

Have left me here to love and live in vain 

Twined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead 
When busy Memory flashes on my brain ? 
Weil — I will dream that we may meet again. 



44 CHILDE Harold's canto lu 

And woo tne vision to my vacant breast : 
If anght of young Remembrance then remain, 
Be as it may Futurity's behest, 
For me 'twere bhss enough to know thy spirit blest ! 

X. 

Here let me sit upon this massy stone, 
The marble column's yet unshaken base ; 
Here, son of Saturn ! was thy fav'rite throne : (*) 
Mightiest of many such ! Hence let me trace 
The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place. 
It may not be : nor ev'n can Fancy's eye 
Restore what Time hath labour'd to deface. 
Yet these proud pillars claim no passing sigh ; 
Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols by. 

XI. 

But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane 
On high, where Pallas linger'd, loath to flee , 
The latest relic of her ancient reign ; 
The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was he ? 
Blush, Caledonia ! such thy son could be ! 
England ! I joy no child he was of thine : 
Thy free-born men should spare what once was free, 
Yet they could violate each saddening shrine. 
And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine. (") 

XII. 

But most the modern Plot's ignoble boast, 
To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath spared ; (') 
Cold as the crags upon his native coast, 
His mind as barren and his heart as hard. 
Is he whose head conceived, whose hand prepared. 
Aught to displace Athena's poor remains 
Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, 
Yet felt some portion of theii* mother's pains, (^) 
And never knew, till then, the weight of Despot's chains. 

(1) The temple of Jupiter Olympius, of which sixteen columns, entirely of mar- 
ble, yet survive : originally there were 150. These columns, however, are by ma» 
ny supposed to belong to the Pantheon. 

(2) The ship was wrecked in the Archipelago. 

(3) See Appendix to this Canto [AJ, for a note\oo long t& t7t> piaoea here. 

(4) I cannot resist availing myself of the permission of my friend Dr. Clarke, 
whose name requires no comment with the public, but whose sanction will add ten- 
fold weight to ni}' testimony, to insert the following extract from a very obliging let- 
ter of his to me, as a note to the above hnes. " When the last of the Metopes waa 
taken from* the Parthenon, and, in moving of it, great part of the superstructiu-e with 



CANTO II. 



PILGRIMAGE. 45 



XIII. 

What ! shall it e'er be said by British tongue 
Albion was happy in Athena's tears 1 
Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung; 
Tell not the deed to blushing Europe's ears ; 
The ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears 
The last poor plunder from a bleeding land : 
Yes, she, whose gen'rous aid her name endears, 
Tore down those remnants with a harpy's hand, 
Which envious Eld forbore, and tyrants left to stand. 

XIV. 

Where was thine -3Sgis, Pallas ! that appall'd 

Stern Alaric and Havoc on their way? (') 

Where Peleus' son 1 whom Hell in vain enthrall'd, 
. His shade from Hades upon that dread day 

Bursting to light in terrible array ! 

What! could not Pluto spare the chief once more. 

To scare a second robber from his prey ] 

Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore. 
Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield before. 

XV. 

Cold is the heart, fair Greece ! that looks on thee, 
Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust tbey loved ; 
Dull is the eye that will not weep to see 
Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed 
By British hands, which it had best behoved 
To guard those relics ne'er to be restored.. 
Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved, 
And once again thy hapless bosom gored. 
And snatch'd thy shrinking Gods to northern climes abhorr'd ! 

XVI. 

But where is Harold 1 shall I then forget 
To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave 1 
Little reck'd he of all that men regret ; 

one of the triglyphs was thrown down by the workmen whom Lord E.gin employed, 
the Disdar, who beheld the mischief done to the building, took his pipe from his 
mouth, dropped a tear, and, in a supplicating tone of voice, sjid to Lusieri, TAos! 
— I was present." The Disdar alluded to was the father of the present Disdar. 

(1) According to Zosimus, Minerva and Achilles flTightened Alaric from the 
Acropolis ; but others relate that the Gothic king was nearly as mischievous as tho 
Scottish peer. iSee Chandler, 



46 CHII.DE HAROLD'S CANTO II. 

No loved-orte now in feign'd lament could rave ; 
No friend the parting hand extended gave, 
Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes : 
Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave ; 
But Harold felt not as in other times, 
And left without a sigh the land of war. and crimes. 



XVII. 

He that has sail'd upon the dark blue sea, 
Has view'd at times, I ween, a full fair sight ; 
^Mien the iresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, 
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight ; 
Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right, 
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, 
The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight. 
The dullest sailor wearing bravely now, 
So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow. 



XVIII. 

And oh, the little warlike world within ! 
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy, (^) 
The hoarse command, the busy humming din, 
TMien, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high : 
Hark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering crv ! 
"^Aliile through the seaman's hand the tackle glides ; 
Or schoolboy Midshipman that, standing by, 
Strains his shrill pipe as good or ill betides. 
And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. 

XIX. 

"\Miite is the glassy deck, without a stain, 
"VATiere on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks : 
Look on that part which sacred doth remain 
For the lone chieftain, who majestic stalks. 
Silent and fear'd by all — not oft he talks 
'With aught beneath him, if he would preserve 
That strict restraint, which broken, ever balks 
Conquest and Fame : but Britons rarely swer^'e 
From law, however stern, which tends iieir strength to nerve. 

(1) The netting to prevent blocks or splinters from falling on deck during ac- 
tion. 



CiNTOII. 



PILGRIMAGE. 47 



XX. 



Blow ! swiftly blow, thou keel-comppUing gale ! 
Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray ,• 
Then must the pennant-bearer slacken sail, 
That lagging barks may make their lazy way. 
Ah ! grievance sore, and listless dull delay. 
To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze ! 
What leagues are lost, before the dawn of day, 
Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas, 
The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like these ! 

XXI. 

The moon is up ; by Heaven, a lovely eve ! 
Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand ; 
Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids believe i 
Such be our fate when we return to land ! 
Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand 
Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love ; 
A circle there of merry listeners stand. 
Or to some well-known measure featly move. 
Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove. 

XXII. 

Through Calpe's straits sur\'ey the steepy shore ; 
Europe and Afric on each other gaze ! 
Lands of the dark-eyed Maid and dusky Moor 



Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's blaze : ^/^Ik^^^*'^ '^ '^"'^^^/^ 

How softly on the Spanish shore she plays, ^4^. .^ •... i .^-^-^^i- 
Disclosing rock, and slope, and forest brown, ft^>?^j\* >^tt"'^W^*^ 
Distinct, though darkening with her waning phas^fV^ jj - ^ ^ -■^'^^ 

But Mauritania's giant-shadows frown, ^-^)rfi(ii^-'''^''9^>^P^' 

From mountain-cliff* to coast descending sombre dowB"***'-"^'-^-'--^- •'" 



XXIII. 

'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel 
We once have loved, though love is at an end : 
The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal. 
Though friendless no^v, will dream it had a friend. 
Who with the weight of years would wish to bend. 
When Youth itself survives young Love and Joy 1 
Alas ! when mingling souls^orget to blend, 
Death hath but little left him to destroy ! 
An 1 happy years ! once more who wouW not be a boy I 



48 CHILDE HAROLD'S canto ii. 

XXIV. 

Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, 
To gaze on Dian's wave-reflected sphere, 
The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride, 
And flies unconscious o'er each backward year. 
None are so desolate but something dear, 
Dearer than self, possesses or possess'd 
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear ; 
A flashing pang ! of which the weary breast 
Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. 



XXV. 

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, 
And mortal toot hath i.e'er or rarely been ; 
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, 
With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; 
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; 
This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold 
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroird. 



XXVI. 

But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, 
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess. 
And roam along, the world's tired denizen. 
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless ; 
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress ! 
None that, with kindred consciousness endued, 
If we were not, would seem to smile the less 
Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued, 
This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude ! 



XXVII. 

More blest the life of godly Eremite, 
Such as on lonely Athos may be seen. 
Watching at eve upon the giant height. 
Which looks o'er waves so blue, skies so serene. 
That he who there at such an hour hath been 
Will wistful linger on that hallow'd spot ; 
Then slowly tear him from the witching scene. 
Sigh forth one wish that such had been his lot. 
Then turn to hate a world he had almost forgot. 



CANTO H. PILGRIMAGE. 49 

XXVIII. 

Pass we the long, unvarying course, the track 
Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind ; 
Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack, 
And each well known caprice of wave and wind ; 
Pass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, 
Coop'd in their winged sea-girt citadel ; 
The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind. 
As breezes rise and fall and billows swell, 
Till on some jocund morn — lo, land ! and all is well. 

XXIX. 

But not in silence pass Calypso's isles, (^) 
The sister tenants of the middle deep ; 
There for the weary still a haven smiles. 
Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep, 
And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep 
For him who dared prefer a mortal bride : 
Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap 
Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide ; 
While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly sigh'dt 

XXX. 

Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone : 
But trust not this ; too easy youth, beware ! 
A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne, 
And thou may'st find a new Calypso there. 
Sweet Florence ! could another ever share 
This wayward, loveless heart, it would be thine : 
But check'd by every tie, 1 may not dare 
To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine. 
Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine. 

XXXI. 

Thus Harold deem'd, as on that lady's eye 
He look'd, and met its beam without a thought, 
Save Admiration glancing harmless by : 
Love kept aloof, albeit not far remote. 
Who knew his votary often lost and caught, 
But knew him as his worshipper no more. 
And ne'er again the boy his bosom sought : 
Since now he vainly urged him to adore. 
Well deem'd the little God his ancient sway was o'ei* 

(r^ Goza is said to have been the isl&nd of Calvuso. 



f^ CHILDE HAROLD^S CANTO n 

XXXII. 

Fair Florence found, in sooth with some amaze. 
One who, 'twas said, still sigh'd to all he saw, 
Withstand, unmoved, the lustre of her gaze. 
Which others hail'd with real or mimic awe, 
Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their law , 
All that gay Beauty from her bondsmen claims : 
And much she marvell'd that a youth so raw 
Nor felt, nor feign'd at least, the oft-told flames. 
Which, though sometimes they frown, yet rarely anger dames. 

XXXIII. 

Little knew she that seeming marble heart. 
Now mask'd in silence or withheld by pride. 
Was not unskilful in the spoiler's art, 
And spread its snares licentious far and wide ; 
Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside, 
As long as aught was worthy to pursue : 
But Harold on such arts no more relied ; 
And had he doted on those eyes so blue. 
Yet never would he join the lover's whining crew. 

XXXIV. 

Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast, 
TVlio thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs ; 
What careth she for hearts when once possess'd ? 
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes ; 
But not too humbly, or she will despise 
Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes : 
Disguise ev'n tenderness, if thou art wise ; 
Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes ; 
Pique her and soothe in turn, soon Passion crowns thy hopes 

XXXV. 

'Tis an old lesson ; Time approves it true, 
And those who know it best, deplore it most ; 
When all is won that all desire to woo, 
The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost : 
Youth wasted, minds degraded, honour lost, 
These are thy fruits, successful Passion ! these ! 
If, kmdly cruel, early Hope is crost, 
Still to the last it rankles, a disease. 
Not to be cured when Love itself forgets to please. 



CANTO U. 



PILGRIMAGE. £1 



XXXVI 

Away ! nor let me loiter in my song, 
For we have many a mountain-path to tread, 
And many a varied shore to sail along, 
By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led — 
Climes, fair withal as ever mortal head 
Imagined in its little schemes of thought; 
Or e'er in new Utopias were read. 
To teach man what he might be, or he ought ; 
If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught. 

XXXVII. 

Dear Nature is the kindest mother still. 
Though always changing, in her aspect mild ; 
From her bare bosom let me take my fill. 
Her never-wean'd, though not her favour'd child. 
Oh ! she is fairest in her features wild. 
Where nothing polish'd dares pollute her path : 
To me by day or night she ever smiled 
Though I have mark'd her when none other hath, 
And sought her more and more, and loved her best in wrath. 

XXXVIII. 

Land of Albania ! where Iskander rose, 
Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise. 
And he his namesake, whose oft-baffled foes 
Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprize : 
Land of Albania ! (^) let me bend mine eyes 
On thee ! thou rugged nurse of savage men ! 
The cross descends, thy minarets arise. 
And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen. 
Through many a cypress grove within each other's ken 

XXXIX. 

Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot (') 
Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave ; 
And onward view'd the mount, not yet forgot, 
The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. 
Dark Sappho ! could not verse immortal save 
That breast imbued with such immortal fire 1 
Could she not live who life eternal gave ? 
If life eternal may await the lyre. 
That only heaven to which Earth's children may aspire. 

(1) See Appendix to this Canto, Note fB], 

(2) Ithaoa. 



52 CHiLDE Harold's canto a 

XL. 

'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve 
Childe Harold hail'd Leucadia's cape afar ; 
A spot he long'd to see, nor cared to leave : 
Oft did he mark the scenes of vanish'd war, 
Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar ; (^) 
Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight 
(Born beneath some remote inglorious star) 
In themes of bloody fray or gallant fight, 
But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at martial wight, 

XLI. 

But when he saw the evening star above 
Leucadia's far-projecting rock of woe, 
And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love, (*) 
He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow : 
And as the stately vessel glided slow 
Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, 
He watch'd the billows' melancholy flow. 
And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont. 
More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid front. 

XLII. 

Morn dawns ; and ^vith it stern Albania's hills. 
Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, 
Kobed half in mist, bedew'd with snowy rills, 
Array'd in many a dun and purple streak. 
Arise ; and, as the clouds along them break. 
Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer: 
Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak, 
Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear. 
And gathering storms around convulse the closing year 

XLIII. 

Now Harold felt himself at length alone. 

And bade to Christian tonorues a lonjr adieu : 

"Now he adventured on a shore unknown. 

Which all admire, but many dread to view : 

His breast was arm'd 'gainst fate, his wants were few ; 

(^^ Actium and Trafalgar need no further mention. The battle of Lepanto, 
equally bloody and considerable, but less known, was fought in the Gulf of Patras* 
Here the author of Don Q-uixote lost his left hand. 

(2) Leucadia, now Santa Maura. From the promentory (the Lover's Leap^ 
Sappho is said to have thrdWn herself. 



' 4NT0 n. PILGR1MAG£. 63 

Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet : 
The scene was savage, but the scene was new ; 
This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet, 
Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed summer's heat. 



XLIV. 

Here the red cross, for still the cross is here, 
Though sadly scofT'd at by the circumcised, 
Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear ; 
Churchman and votary alike despised. 
Foul Superstition ! howsoe'er disguised, 
Idol, saint, virgin, prophet, crescent, cross, 
For whatsoever symbol thou art prized. 
Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss ! 
Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross ? 



XLV. 

Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost 
A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing ! 
In yonder rippling bay, their naval host 
Did many a Roman chief and Asian king (^) 
To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring : 
Look where the second Caesar's trophies rose ! (•) 
Now, like the hands that rear'd them, withering : 
Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes ! 
God ! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and lose ? 



XLVI. 

From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, 
Ev'n to the centre of Illyria's vales, 
Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, 
Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales ; 
Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales 
Are rarely seen : nor can fair Tempo boast 
A charm they know not ; loved Parnassus fails 
Though classic ground and consecrated most. 
To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. 



(1) It IS said, that on the day previous to the battle of Actium, Anthony had 
thirteen kings at his levee. 

2) Nicopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at some distance from Actium, 
where the wall of thy Hippodrome survives in a few fragments. 

5* 



^ CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO n. 

XLVII. 

He passM bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, (') 
And left the primal city of the land, 
And onwards did his further journey take 
To gi 3et Albania's chief, (') whose dread command 
Is la .vless law ; for with a bloody hand 
He sways a nation, turbulent and bold : 
Yet here and there some daring mountain-band 
Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold 
Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. (") 

XLVIII. 

Monastic Zitza ! (*) from thy shady brow, 
Thou small, but favour'd spot of holy ground ! 
Where'er we gaze, around, above, below, 
What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found ' 
Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound. 
And bluest skies that harmonise the whole : 
Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound 
Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll 
Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the souL 

XLIX. 

Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, 
Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh 
Rising in lofty ranks, and lofter still, 
Might well itself be deem'd of dignity, 
The convent's white walls glisten fair on high : 
Here dwells the caloyer, (^) nor rude is he, 
Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by 
Is welcome still ; nor heedless will he tlee 
From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see. 

^1) According to Pouqueville, the lake of Yanina ; but Pouqueville is always out 

(2) The celebrated Ali Pacha. Of this extraordinary man there is an incorrect 
account in Pouqueville's Travels. 

(3) Five thousand Suliotes, among the rocks and in the castle of SuU. withstood 
30,000 Albanians for eighteen years ; the castle at last was taken by bribery. In 
this contest there were several acts performed not unworthy of the better days of 
Greece. 

(4) The convent and village of Zitza are four hours' journey from Joannina, or 
Yanina, the capital of the Paclialick. In the valley of the river Kalamas (once the 
Acheron) flows, and, not far from Zitza, forms a fine cataract. The situation is per- 
haps the finest in Greece, though the approach to Delvinachi and parts of Acarna- 
nia and ^■Etolia may contest the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and, in Attica, evt*n 
Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are very inferior; as also every scene in Ionia, jr 
tiio Troad : I am almost inclmed to add the approach to Constantinople ; but fium 
the diffei-ent features of the last, a comparison can hardly b<» made. 

(5) The Greek monks are so called. 



CANTO IL PILGRIMAGE. 55 

L. 

Here in the sultriest season let him rest, 
Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees ,• 
Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast, 
From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze : 
The plain is far beneath — oh ! let him seize 
Pure pleasure while he can ; the scorching ray 
Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease : 
Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, 
And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. 

LI. 

Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, 
Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, (') « 

Chimaera's alps extend from left to right : 
Beneath, a living valley seems to stir ; 
Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain-fir 
Nodding above : behold black Acheron ! (') 
Once consecrated to the sepulchre. 
Pluto ! if this be hell I look upon. 
Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for nooe. 

LII. 

Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view ; 

Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, .^■^^'^'^ -^'^ 

Veil'd by the screen of hills: here men are few^^^i'f^^^^ ^•^:/\ 
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely col ; /Cv \A 

But peering down each precipice, the goat lift K&1K^>' K^^^* 
Browseth; and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flocK^r -ii^k-*/ 

The little shepherd in his white capote (') X^f^&^ ilili^*'^?^ 

Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, ^<-3IjS'--''"'"" 

Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock. 

LIII. 

Oh ! svhere, Dodona! is thine aged grove, 
Prophetic fount, and oracle divine t 
What valley echo'd the response of Jove ? 
What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's shrine 1 
All, all forgotten — and shall man repine 
That his frail bonds to fleeting hfe are broke? 
Cease, fool ! the fate of gods may well be thine : 
Wouldstthou survive the marble or the oak? 
When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the 
stroke ! 

(1) The Chimariot mountains appear to have been volcanic. 

(2) Now called Kalainas. (3) Albanese cloak. 



66 CHILDE Harold's 



CANTO II 



LIV. 

Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail ; 
Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye 
Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale. 
As ever Spring yclad in grassy die : 
Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie, 
\Miere some bold river breaks the long expanse, 
And woods along the banks are waving high, 
Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance. 
Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. 

LV. 

The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, (') 
And Laos wide and tierce came roaring by ; C) 
The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, 
"When, down the steep banks winding warily, 
Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, 
The glittering minarets of Tepalen, 
AVhose walls o'erlook the stream ; and drawing nigh, 
He heard the busy hum of warrior-men 
Swx'lling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen. 

LVI. 

He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower. 
And underneath the wide o'erarching gate 
Survey'd the dwelling of this chief of power, 
"\Miere all around j)roclaim'd his high estate. 
Amidst no common pomp the despot sate. 
While busy preparation shook the court, 
Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait ; 
Within, a palace, and without, a fort ; 
Here men of every clime appear to make resort. 

LVII. 

Richly caparison'd, a ready row 
Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, 
Circled the wide extending court below ; 
Above, strange groups adorn'd tlie corridore ; 

(1) Anciently Mount Tomarus. 

(2) Tlio river Laos was full at the time the author passed it ; and, iinmediate'T 
above Tcpaleen, was to the eye as wide as the Thames at Westminster; at least in 
the opinion of the author and his fellow-traveller. Mr. Hobhouse. In the summer it 
must be mneh narrower. It certainly is the finest river in the Levant ; neither 
Achelous, Alpheus, Acheron, Scamander, nor Cayster, approached it in breazith 
or beauty. 



CANTO 11, PILGRIMAGE. 



m 



And oft-times through the area's echoing door, 
Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away : 
The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, 
Here mingled in their many-hued array, 
While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day. 

LVIII. 

The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, 
With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun. 
And gold-embroider'd garments, fair to see : 
The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon ; 
The Delhi with his cap of terror on, 
And crooked glaive ; jhe lively, supple Greek ; 
And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son ; 
The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak, 
Master of all around, too potent to be meek, 

LIX. 

Are mix'd conspicuous ; some recline in groups. 
Scanning the motley scene that varies round ; 
There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, 
And some that smoke, and some that play, are found ; 
Here the Albanian proudly treads the groimd ; 
Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate ; 
Hark ! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound, 
The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, 
•* There is no god but God ! — to prayer — lo ! God is great !*' 

LX. 

Just at this season Ramazani's fast 
Through the long day its penance did maintain : 
But when the lingering twilight hour was past, 
Revel and feast assumed the rule again : 
Now all was bustle, and the menial train 
Prepared and spread the plenteous board within ; 
The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain, 
But from the chambers came the mingling din. 
As page and slave anon were passing out and in. 

Lxr. 
Here woman's voice is never heard : apart. 
And scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to move. 
She yields to one her person and her heart, 
Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove : 



6S CHiLDE Harold's canto n. 

For, not unhappy in her master's love, 
And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares, 
Blest cares ! all other feelings far above ! 
Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears. 
Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares. 

Lxri. 

In marbled-paved pavilion, where a spring 
Of living water from the centre rose. 
Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling. 
And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, 
Ali reclined, a man of war and woes : 
Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace. 
While Gentleness her milder radiance throws 
Along that aged venerable face. 
The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace. 

LXIII. 

It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard 
111 suits the passions which belong to youth ; 
Love conquers age — so Hafiz hath averr'd, 
So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth — 
But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth, 
Beseeming all men ill, but most the man 
In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth ; 
Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span 
In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. 

LXIV. 

'Mid many things most new to ear and eye 
The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, 
And gazed around on Moslem luxury. 
Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat 
Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat 
Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise : 
And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet ; 
But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, 
And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. 

LXV. 

Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack 
Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. 
Wherp is the foe that ever saw their back ? 
Who can so well the toil of war endure ? 



CAMTO IL 



PILGRIMAGE. 69 



Their native fastnesses not more secure 
Than they in doubtful time of troublous need : 
Their wrath how deadly ! but their friendship sure, 
When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed, 
Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead. 

LXVI. 

Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower 
Thronging to war in splendour and success ; 
And after view'd them, when, within their power. 
Himself awhile the victim of distress ; 
That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press : 
But these did shelter him beneath their roof. 
When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less. 
And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof — (^) 
In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof! 

LXVII. 

It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark 
Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore. 
When all around was desolate and dark ; 
To land was perilous, to sojourn more ; 
Yet for a while the mariners forbore. 
Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk : 
At length they ventured forth, though doubting sore 
That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk 
Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work. 

LXVIII. 

Vain fear ! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand, 
Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, 
Kinder than polish'd slaves though not so bland. 
And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp, 
And fill'd the bowl, and trimm'd the cheerful lamp. 
And spread their fare ; though homely, all they had : 
Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp — 
To rest the weary and to soothe the sad, 
I>oth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad. 

LXIX. 

It came to pass, that when he did address 
Himself to quit at length this mountain-land, 

(1) Alluding to the wreckers of Cornwall. 



60 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO B. 

Combined marauders half-way barrM egress, 
And wasted far and near with glaive and brand ; 
And therefore did he take a trusty band 
To traverse Acarnania's forest wide. 
In war well seasoned, and with labours tann'd, 
Till he did greet white Achelous' tiae, 
And from his further bank iEtolia's worlds espied. 

LXX. 

Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, 
And weary waves retire to gleam at rest, 
How brown the foliage of the green hill's grove, 
Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast. 
As winds come lightly whispering from the west, 
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene : — 
Here Harold was received a welcome guest ; 
Nor did he pass unmoved the gentle scene, 
For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence glean. 

LXXI, 

On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed, 
The feast was done, the red wine circling fast, (^) 
And he that unawares had there gazed 
With gaping wonderment had stared aghast ; 
For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past, 
The native revels of the troop began ; 
Each Palikar (^) his sabre from him cast. 
And bounding hand in hand, man link'd to man, • 
Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled clan. 

LXXII. 

Childe Harold at a little distance stood 
And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie, 
Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude : 
In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see 
Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee ; 
And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd. 
Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free. 
The long wild locks that to their girdles stream'd. 
While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream d : (') 

(1) The Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from wine, and, indeed very few <A 
the others. 

(2) Palikar, shortened when addressed to a single person, from UaXiKapi, a gene- 
ral name for a soldier amongst the Greeks and Albanese who speak Romaic — it 
means, properly " a lad." 

(3) For a specimen of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect of the Illyric, see Ap- 
pendix to this Canto, Note [CJ. 



«AMTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 91 

1. 

Tambourgi ! Tambourgl ! (^) thy 'larum afar 
Gives hope to the vaUant, and promise of war ; 
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, 
Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote ! (^) 

2. 

Oh ! who is more brave Jhan a dark Suliote, 
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote ? 
,^ To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock, 
And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. 

3. 

Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive 
The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live 1 
Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego? 
What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe ? 

4. 

Macedonia sends forth her invincible race ; 
For a time they abandon the cave and the chase : 
But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before 
The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. 

6. 

Then the pirates of Farga that dwell by the waves, 
And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, 
Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar. 
And track to his covert the captive on shore. 

6. 

I ask not the pleasures that riches supply. 
My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy : 
Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair 
And many a maid from her mother shall tear. 

7. 

I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, 
Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe : 
Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre. 
And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. 

(1) Drummer. 

(2) These Stanzas are partly taken from different Albanese son^s, as Tar as 
was able to make them out by the exposition of the Albanes^in Romaic and Italian 



63 CHiLDE Harold's canto a. 

8. 

Remember the moment when Previsa fell, (*) 
The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors' yell. 
The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, 
The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared. 

9. 

I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear ; 
He neither must know who would serve the Vizier : 
Since the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw 
A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 

10. 

Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped. 

Let the yellow-hair'd (^) Giaours (^) view his horse-tail (*) 

with dread ; 
When his Delhis (^) come dashing in blood o'er the banks, 
How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks I 



11. 

Selictar ! (') unsheath then our chiefs scimitar ; 
Tambourgi ! thy 'larum gives promise of war. 
Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore. 
Shall view us as victors, or view us no more ! 



LXXIII. 

Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! (7) 
Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, great ! 
Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth, 
And long accustom'd bondage uncreate ? 
Not such thy sons who whilome did await. 
The hopeless warriors of a willing doom. 
In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait — 
Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume, 
Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb ? 

(1) It was taken by storm from the French. 

(2) Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians. (3) Infidel. 

(4) Horse-tails are the insignia of a Pacha. 

(5) Horsemen, answering to our forlorn hope. (6) Sword-bearer. 

(7) Some thoughts on this subject will be found in the Appendlr to this Canto 
Note [D.J 



CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 63 

LXXIV. 

Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow (^) 
Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, 
Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now 
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? 
Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, 
But every carle can lord it o'er thy Jand ; 
Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, 
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, 
From birth till death enslaved ; in word, in deed, unmann'd, 

LXXV. 

In all save form alone, how changed ! and who 
That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, 
Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew 
With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty ! 
And many dream withal the hour is nigh 
That gives them back their fathers' heritage : 
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh. 
Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage. 
Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page. 

LXXVI. 

Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not 
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow 1 
By their right arms the conquest must be wrought ? 
Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? no ! 
True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, 
But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. 
Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er your foe ! 
Greece ! change thy lords, thy state is still the same ; 
Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of shame. 

LXXVII. 

The city won for Allah from the Giaour, 

The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest ; 

And the Serai's impenetrable tower 

Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest ; Q) 

Or Wahab's rebel brood who dared divest 

The prophet's (^) tomb of all its pious spoil, 

(3) Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, has still considerable re- 
mains : it was seized by Thrasybulus previous to the expulsion of the Thirty. 

(2) When taken by the Latins, and retained for several years. — See Gibbon. 

(3) Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the "Wahaheen, a sect 
▼tarly increasmg. 



81 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO O 

May wind their path of blood along the West; 
But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil, 
But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toiL 

LXXVIII. 

Yet mark their mirth — ere lenten days begin. 
That penance which their holy rites prepare 
To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin, 
By daily abstinence and nightly prayer ; 
But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear, 
Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all, 
To take of pleasaunce each his secret share. 
In motley robe to dance at masking ball, 
And join the mimic train of merry Carnival. 

LXXIX. 

And whose more rife with merriment than thine. 
Oh Stamboul ! once the empress of their reign ? 
Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine. 
And Greece her very altars eyes in vain : 
(Alas I her woes will still pervade my strain !) 
Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, 
All felt the common joy they now must feign. 
Nor oft I've seen such sight, nor heard such song. 
As woo'd the eye, and thi'ill'd the Bosphorus along. 

LXXX. 

Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore, 
Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone. 
And timely echo'd back the measured oar. 
And rippling waters made a pleasant moan : 
The Queen of tides on high consenting shone. 
And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave, 
'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne, 
A brighter glance her form reflected gave, 
Till sparliling billows seem'd to Ught the banks they lave 

LXXXI. 

Glanced many a light caique along the foam. 
Danced on the shore the daughters of the land, 
Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home. 
While many a languid eye and thrilling hand 
Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand. 



CAifTO n. PILGRIMAGE. 65 

Or gently prest, return'd the pressure still : 
Oh Love ! young Love ! bound in thy rosy band, 
Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, 
These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill I 

LXXXII. 

But, midst the throng in merry masquerade, 
Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain, 
Even through the closest searment half betray'd 1 
To such the gentle murmurs of the main 
Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain ; 
To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd 
Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain : 
How do they loathe the laughter idly loud. 
And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud ! 

LXXXIII. 

This must he feel, the true-born son of Greece, 
If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast : 
Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace, 
The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all he lost, 
Yet with smooth smile his tyrant can accost. 
And wield the slavish sickle, not the sword : 
Ah ! Greece ! they love thee least who owe thee most 
Their birth, their blood, and that sublime record 
Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde ! 

LXXXIV. 

When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood. 
When Thebes Epaminondas rears ao-ain, 
When Athens' children are with hearts endued, 
When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men 
Then may'st thou be restored ; but not till then. 
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state - 
An hour may lay it in the dust : and when 
Can man its shatter'd splendour renovate, 
Recal its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate ? 

LXXXV. 

And yet how lovely in thine age of wo, 

Land of lost gods and godlike men ! art thou ! 

Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow, (•) 

tl) Gn many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, ths f^okv never ig em.rel* 
meted, notwithstandmg the intense heat of the summer: bu' I never saw it lUn,, 
the plains, even in winter ^ 

6^^ 



0(5 CHILDE Harold's canto u 

Proclaim thee Nature's varied favourite now ; 
Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow, 
Comminghng slowly with heroic earth, 
Broke by the share of every rustic plough : 
So perish monuments of mortal birth. 
So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; 



LXXXVI. 

Save where some solitary column mourns 
Above its prostrate brethren of the cave ; (^) 
Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns 
Colonna's cliff, and gleams along the wave ; 
Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave, 
Where the gray stones and unmolested grass 
Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave. 
While strangers only not regardless pass. 
Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh " Alas ! ^ 



LXXXVII. 

Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ; 
Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, 
Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled. 
Arid ^till his honied wealth Hymettus yields ; 
There theblithe bee his fragrant fortress builds. 
The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air ; 
Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds. 
Still in hi^ beam Mendeli's marbles glare ; 
Art, Gloryl Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. 



LXXXVIII. 

Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground ; 
No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould. 
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 
And all the Muse's tales seem truly told. 
Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : 
Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold 
Defies the power which crush'd thy temples gone : 
Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon. 

(1) Of Mount Pentelicus, from whence the marble was dug that constructed tht 
public edifices of Athens. — The modern name is Mount Mendeli. An immeOM 
cave, formed by the quarries, still remains, and will till tHfe end of time. 



CANTO II. PILGRIMAGE. 67 

LXXXIX. 

The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same ; 
Unchanged in all except its foreign lord — 
Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame 
The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde 
First bow'd beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword. 
As on the morn to distant Glory dear. 
When Marathon became a magic word ; (^) 
Which utter'd, to the hearer's eye appear 
The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career* 

xc. 

The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ; 
The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ; 
Mountains above. Earth's, Ocean's plain below ; 
Death in the front, Destruction in the rear ! 
Such was the scene — what now remaineth here ? 
What sacred trophy marks the hallow'd ground, 
Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear 1 
The rifled urn, the violated mound. 
The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spur*i3 aj'OUluL 

xci. 
Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past 
Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng ; ;^:-- 
Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian bla^|(j^*<^^^'- 
Hail the bright clime of battle and of son 
Long shall thine annals and immortal to 
Fill with thy fame the youth of many a s 
Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ' 
Which sages venerate and bards adore, . 
As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. 

XCII. 

The parted bosom clings to wonted home, 

If aught that 's kindred cheer the welcome hearth ; 

He that is lonely, hither let him roam. 

And gaze complacent on congenial earth. 

Greece is no hghtsome land of social mirth : 

(1) " Siste Viator — heroa calcas ! " was the epitaph on the famoJis Count 
Merci ; — what then must be our feelings when standing on the tumulus of the two 
hundred (Greeks) who fell on Marathon? The principal bariow has recently been 
opened by Fauvel : few or no relics, as vases, &c. were found by the excavator. 
The plain of Marathon was offered to me for sale at the sum of sixteen thousand 
piastres, about nine hundred pounds ! Alas! — " Expende — quot libras induce 
Bummo — invenies!" — was the dust of Miltiades worth no more? It could 
scarcely have fetched less if sold by weight. 




68 CHiLDE Harold's camto n. 

But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide. 
And scarce regret the region of his birth, 
When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, 
Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died. 

XCIII. 

Let such approach this consecrated land, 
And pass in peace along the magic waste ; 
But spare its relics — let no busy hand 
Deface the scenes, already how defaced ! 
Not for such purpose were these altars placed : 
Revere the remnants nations once revered : 
So may our country's name be undisgraced. 
So may'st thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd. 
By every honest joy of love and life endear'd ! 

xciv. 
For thee, who thus in too protracted song 
Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, 
Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng 
Of louder minstrels in these later days : 
To Buch resign the strife for fading bays — 
111 may such contest now the spirit move 
Which heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise ; 
Since cold each kinder heart that might approve, 
And none are left to please when none are left to love. 

xcv. 
Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one ! 
Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me ; 
Who did for me what none beside have done. 
Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. 
W^hat is my being ? thou hast ceased to be ! 
Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home, 
Wlio mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see — - 
Would they had never been, or were to come ! 
Would he had ne'er return'd to find fresh cause to roam ! 



xcvi. 

Oh ! ever loving, lovely, and beloved ! 

How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past. 

And clings to thoughts now better far removed ! 

But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. 

All thou couldst have of mine, stem Death ! thou hast 



CANTO II. 



PILGRIMAGE. S^ 



The parent, friend, and now the more than friend : 
Ne'er yet for one thine arrows flew so fast, 
And grief with grief continuing still to blend, 
Ilath snatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend. 

XCVII. 

Then must I plunge again into the crowd, 
And follow all that Peace disdains to seek 1 
Where Revel calls, and Laughter, vainly loud, 
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, 
To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak ; 
Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer. 
To feign the pleasure or conceal the pique ; 
Smiles form the channel of a future tear. 
Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. 

XCVIII. 

What is the worst of woes that wait on age ? 
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow ? 
To view each loved one blotted from life's page, 
And be alone on earth, as I am now. 
Before the Chastener humbly let me bow. 
O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroy'd : 
Roll on, vain days ! full reckless may ye flow. 
Since Time hath reft wliate'er my soul enjoy'd. 
And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloyU 



APPENDIX 

TO CANTO THE SECOND. 



Note [A]. See p. 44 

" To rive what Gothy and Turlt^ and Time hath spared.^* 

Stanza zii. hne 2. 

At this moment, (January 3, 1809,) besides what has been already deposited 
la London, an Hydriot vessel is in the Pyraeus to receive every portable relic. Thus, 
as I heard a young Greek observe, in common with many of his countrymen — for, 
lost as they are, they yet feel on this occasion — thus may Lord Elgin boast of hav- 
ing ruined Athens. An Italian painter of the first eminence, named Lusieri, is the 
agent of devastation ; and like the Greek finder of Verres in Sicily, who followed 
the same profession, he has proved the able instrument of plunder. Between this 
artist and the French Consul Fauvcl, who wishes to rescue the remains for his own 
government, there is now a violent dispute concerning a car employed in their con- 
Teyance, the wheel of which — I wish they were both broken upon it — has been 
locked up by the Consul, and Lusieri has laid his complaint before the Waywode. 
Lord Elgin has been extremely happy in his choice of Signor Lusieri. During a 
residence of ten years in Athens, he never had the curiosity to proceed as far as 
Sunium,* till he accompanied us in our second excursion. However, his works, as 



* Now Cape Colonna. In all Attica, if we except Athens itself and Marathon, 
there is no sceno more interesting than Cape Colonna. To the antiquary and ar- 
tist, sixteen columns are an inexhaustible source of observation and design; to the 
philosopher, the supposed scene of some of Plato's conversations will not be unwel- 
come ; and the traveller will be struck with the beauty of the prospect over "^ Is.hs 
that crown the ^gean deep : " but for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additional 
interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's Shipwreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten. 
in the recollection of Falconer and Campbell: 

" Here in the dead of night by Lonna's steep, 
The seaman's cry was heard along the deep." 
This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea from a great distance. In two journeys 
which I made, and one voyage to Cape Colonna, the view from either side, by land, 
was less striking than the approach from the isles. In our second land excursion, 
we had a narrow escape from a party of Mainotes, concealed in the caverns beneat'' 
We were told afterwards, by one of their prisoners subsequently ransomed, that 
they were deterred from attacking us by the appearance of my two Albanians : con- 
jecturing very sagaciously, but falsely, that we had a complete guard of these Ar- 
naouts at hand, they remained stationary, and thus saved our party, which was too 
small to have opposed any effectual resistance. Colonna is no less a resort of 
painters than of pirates : there 

" The hireling artist plants his paltry desk. 
And makes degraded nature picturesque." 

(See Hodgson's Lady Jane Gray, &c.) 
But there Nature, with the aid of Art, has done that for herself. I wasfortunata 
enough to engage a very superior German artist ; and hope to renew my acquaint- 
ance with this ana many other Levantine scenes, by the arrival of his performances. 



72 APPENDIX TO 

far as they go, are most beautiful ; but they are almost all unfinished. While he 
and his patrons confine themselves to tasting medals, appreciating cameos, sketch- 
ing columns, and cneapening gems, their Utile absurdities are as harmless as uisect 
or fox-hunting, maiden speechifying, barouche-diiving, or any such pastime; but 
when they carry away three or four shiploads of the most valuable and massy relics 
that time and barbarism have left to the most mjured and must ctlebrated of c ties ; 
when they des.uoy, in a vain attempt to tear down, those works which have been 
the adnnration of ages, I know no motive which can excuse, no name which can 
designate, the perpetrators of this dastardly devastation. It was nut the least of 
the crimes laid to the charge of Verres, that he had plundered Sicilv, in the manner 
since imitated at Athens. The most unblushing impudence could hardly go farther 
than to affix the name of its plunderer to the walls of the Acropolis : while the wan- 
ton and useless defacement of the whole range of the basso-relievos, in one cumpart- 
irient of the temple, will never permit that name to be pronounced by an observer 
without execration. On this occasion I speak impartially : I am not a collector or 
admirer of collections, consequently no rival ; but I have some early prepossession 
in favour of Greece, and do not think the honour of England advanced by plunder, 
whether of India or Attica. Another noble Lord has done better, because he has 
done less : but some others, more or less noble, yet " all honourable men," have 
done best, because, after a deal of excavation and execration, bribery to the Wav- 
wode, mining and countermining, they have done nothing at all. We had sucli ink- 
shed, and wine-shed, which almost ended m bloodshed I Lord E.'s '' prijj " — see 
Jonathan Wylde for the definition of" priggism " — quarrelled with another, Gro/xus* 
by name, (a very good name too for his business,) and muttered something about 
satisfaction, in a verbal answer to a note of the poor Prussian : this was stated at 
labia to Gropius, who laughed, but could eat no dinner afterwards. The rivals 
were not reconciled when I left Greece. I have reason to remember their squabble, 
'or they wanted to make me their arbitrator. 



Note [B]. See p. 51. 

*' Land of Albania I let me bend mine eyes 
On thee, thou rugg ed nurse of savage men ! " 

Stanza xxxviii. lines 5 and 6. 

Albania comprises part of Macedonia, Illyria, Chaonia, and Epirus. Iskander 
is the Turkish word for Alexander ; and the celebrated Scanderberg (Lord Alexan- 
der) is alluded to in the third and fourth lines of the thirty-eighth stunza. I do not 
know whether I am correct in making Scanderberg the countryman of Alexander, 
who was born at Pella in Macedon, but Mr. Gibbon terms him so, and adds Pyrrhus 
to the list, in speaking of his exploits. 

Of Albania Gibbon remarks, that a country " within sight of Italy is less known 
than the interior of America." Circumstances, of little consequence to mention, 
led Mr. Hobhouse and myself into that country before we visited any other part of 
the Ottoman dominions ; and with the exception of Major Leake, then officially resi- 
Jent at Joannina, no other Englishmen have ever advanced beyond the capital into 
the interior, as that gentleman very lately assured me. Ali Pacha was at that time 



* This Sr. Gropius was employed by a noble Lord for the sole purpose of sketch- 
ing, in which he excels ; but lam sorry to say, that he has, through the abused sanc- 
tion of that most respectable name, been treading at humble distance in the steps of 
Sr. Lusieri. A shipful of his trophies was detained, and I believe confiscated, at 
CAistantinople, in ISIO. I am most happy to be now enabled to state, that '' thia 
was not in his bond ; " that he was employed solely as a painter, and that his noble 
patron disavows all connexion with him, except as an artist. If the error in Ihe first 
and second edition of this poem has given the noble Lord a moment's pain, I am 
very sorry for it : Sr. Gropius has assumed for years the nanre of his asent : and 
though I cannot much condemn myself for sharing in the mistake of so many. I am 
happy in being one of the first to be undeceived. Indeed, I have as much pleasure 
in contradicting this as I felt regret m stating it. 



CANTO THE SECON3. 73 

(October, 1809) carrying on war against Ibrahim Pacha, whom he had driven to 
Berat, a strong fortress which he was then besieging : on our arrival at Jcannina 
we were invited to Tepaleni, his highness's birthplace, and favourite Serai, only one 
day's distance from Berat; at this juncture the Vizier had made it his head-quarters. 

After some stay in the capital, we accordingly followed ; but though furnished 
with every accommodation, and escorted by one of the Vizier's secretaries, we were 
nine davs (on account of the rains) in accomplishing a journey which, on our re- 
turn, barely occupied four. 

On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastro and Libochabo, apparently little 
inferior to Yanina in size ] and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to the sconf^ry 
in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, the frontier village of Epirus and Albanui 
Proper. 

On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling to descant, because this will be 
done so much better by my fellow-traveller, in a work which may probably precede 
this in publication, that I as little wish to follow as I would to anticipate him. But 
some few observations are necessary to the text. 

The Arnaouts, or Albanese, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the High- 
landers of Scotland, in dress, fitrure, and manner of living. Their very mountaina 
seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white ; the spare, ac- 
tive form ; their dialect, Celtic in its sound, and their hardy habits, all cairied me 
back to Morven. No nation are so detested and dreaded by their neighbours as 
the Albanese ; the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turks as Mos- 
lems ; and in fact they are a mixture of both, and sometimes neither. Their habits 
are predatory — all are armed; and the led-shawled Arnaouts, the Montenegrins, 
Chimariots, and Gegdes, are treacherous ; the others differ somewhat in garb, and 
essentially in character. As far as my own experience goes, I can speak favour- 
ably. I was attended by two, an Infidel and a Mussulman, to Constantinople and 
every other part of Turkey which came within my observation ; and more faithful 
m peril, or indefatigable in service are rarely to be found. The Infidel was named 
Basilius, the Moslem, Dervish Tahiri ; the former a man of middle age, and the 
latter about my own. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pacha in person to attend 
us ; and Dervish was one of fifty who accompanied us through the forests of Acar- 
nania to the banks of AcheJous, and onward to Messalonghi in ^Etolia. There I 
took him into my own service, and never had occasion to repent it till the moment 
of my departure. 

When in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mr. H. for England, I was seized 
with a severe fever in the Morea, these men saved my life by frightening away my 
physician, whose throat they threatened to cut if I was not cured within a given 
time. To this consolatory assurance of posthumous rt'tribution, and a resolute re- 
fusal of Dr. Romanelli's prescriptions, I attributed my recovery. I had left my last 
remaining English servant at Athens ; my dragoman was as ill as myself, and my 
poor Arnaouts nursed me with an attention which would have done honour to civili- 
zation. They had a variety of adventures ; for the Moslem, Dervish, being a re- 
markably handsome man, was always squabbling with the husbands of Athens ; in- 
somuch that four of the principal Turks paid me a visit of remonstrance at the Con- 
vent, on the subject of his having taken a woman from the bath — whom he had 
lawfully bought however — a thing quite contrary to etiquette. 

Basili also was extremely orallant among his own persuasion, and had the greatest 
veneration for the church, mixed with the highest contempt of churchmen, whom he 
cuffed upon occasion in a most heterodox manner. Yet he never passed a church 
without crossing himself; and I remember the risk he ran in entering St. Sophia, in 
Stambol, because it had once been a place of his worship. On remonstrating with 
him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably answered, " Our church is holy, 
our priests are thieves ;" and then he crossed himself as usual, and boxed the ears 
of the first " papas " who refused to assist in any required operation, as was always 
found to be necessary where a priest had any influence with the Cogia Bashi of his 
village. Indeed, a more abandoned race of miscreants cannot exist ihan the lower 
orders of the Greek clergy. 

When preparations were made for my return, my Albanians were summoned to 
receive their pay. Basili took his with an awkward show of regret at my intended 
departure, and marched away to his quarters with his bag of piastres. I sent for 
Dervish, but for some time he was not to be found ; at last he ertered. just as Sig- 
nor liOgotheti, father to the ci-devant Anglo-consul of Athens, and some other of 
my Greek acquaintances, paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, but on a sud- 
den dashed it to the ground ; and clasping his hands, which he raised to his forehead, 

7 



74 APPENDIX TO 

rushed out of the room, weeping bitterly. From that momei ,t to the hour of my 
embarkation, he continued his lamentations, and all our efforts to console him only 
produced this answer, " Ma ^£tv«," " He leaves me." Signor Logotheti, who 
never wept before foi any thing less than the loss of a para (about the fourth of a 
farthing) , melted ; the padre of the convent, my attendants, my visitors — and I 
verily believe that even Sterne's " foolish fat scullion " would have left her " fish- 
kettle," to sympathize with the unaffected and unexpected sorrow of this barbarian. 

For my own part, when I remembered that, a short time before my departure 
from England, a noble and most intimate associate had excused himself from taking 
leave of me because he had to attend a relation " to a milliner's," I felt no less sur- 
prised than humiliated by the present occurrence and the past recollection. 

That Dervish would leave me with some regret was to be expected : when master 
and man have been scrambling over the mountains of a dozen provinces together, 
they are unwilling to separate ; but his present feelings, contrasted with his native 
ferocity, improved my opinion of the human heart. I believe this almost feudal fide- 
lity is frequent among them. One day, on our journey over Parnassus, an English- 
man in my service gave him a push in some dispute about the baggage, which he 
unluckily mistook for a blow ; he spoke not, but sat down leaning his head upon his 
hands. Foreseeing the consequences, we endeavoured to explain away the affront, 
which produced the following answer: — ^^ I have 6een a robber ; I am a soldier ; 
no captain ever struck me ; you are my master, I have eaten your bread but by 
that bread! (an usual oath) had it been otherwise, I would have stabbed the dog 
your servant, and gone to the mountains." So the affair ended, but from that day 
forward he never thoroughly forgave the thoughtless fellow who insulted him. 

Dervish excelled in the dance of his country, conjectured to be a remnant of the 
ancient Pyrrhic : be that as it may, it is manly, and requires wonderful ability. If 
is very distinct from the stupid Romaika, the dull round-about of the Greeks, o' 
which our Athenian party had so many specimens. 

The Albanians in general (I do not mean the cultivators of the earth in the pro» 
vinces, who have also that appellation, but the mountaineers) have a fine cast o' 
countenance: and the most beautiful women I ever beheld, in stature and in fea, 
lures, we saw levelling the road broken down by the torrents between Delvinaclii 
and Libochabo. Their manner of walking is truly theatrical; but this strut is pro- 
bably the effect of the capote, or cloak, depending from one shoulder. Their long 
hair reminds you of the Spartans, and their courage in desultory warfare is unques- 
tionable. Though they have some cavalry amongst the Gegdes, I never saw a good 
Arnaout horseman ; my own preferred the English saddles, which, however, they 
could never keep. But on foot they are not to be subdued by fatigue. 



Note [C]. See p. 60. 
" While thus in concert^'' &c. 



Stanza Ixxii. line last. 



As a specimen of the Albanian ot Arnaout dialect of the Illyric, I here insert tw» 
of their most popular choral songs, which are generally chanted in dancing by men 
or women indiscriminately. The fir&^t words are merely a kind of chorus without 
meaning, like some in our own and all other languages. 

1. 1. 

Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo. Lo, Lo, I come, I come ; be thou 

Naciarura, popuso. silent. 

2. • 2. 
Naciarura na civin come, I run ; open the door that I 
Ha pen derini ti hin. may enter. 

3. 3. 

Ha pe uderi escrotmJ Open the door by halves, that I may 

Ti vin ti mar servetim. take my turban. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 



76 



Galiriote me surme 
Ea ha pe pse dua live. 

5. 

Buo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, 

Gi egem spiita esimiro. 

6. 

Galiriote vu le funde 
Ede vete tunde tunde. 



4. 
Caliriotes* with the dark eyes, opeR 
the gate, that I may enter. 

5. 

Lo, lo, I hear thee, my soul. 



An Arnaout girl, in costly garb, 
walks with graceful pride. 



Galiriote me surme 
Ti mi put e poi mi le. 

8. 
Se ti puta citi mora 
Si mi ri ni veti udo gia. 



Va le ni il che cadale 
Celo more, more celo. 

10. 

Plu hari ti terete 

Plu huron cia pra seti. 



Caliriot maid of the dark eyes, give 
me a kiss. 



If I have kissed thee, what hast 
thou gained ? My soul is consum- 
ed with hre. 

9. 

Dance lightly, more gently, and 

gently still. 

JO. 

Make not so much dust to destroy 
your embroidered hose. 



The last stanza would puzzle a commentator : the men have certainly buskins of 
the most beautiful texture, but the ladii's (to whom the above is supposed to be ad- 
dressed) have nothing under their little yellow boois and siipptrs but a well-turned 
and sometimes very white ankle. The Arnaout girls are much handsomer than the 
Greeks, and their dress is far more picturesque. They preserve thtir shape much 
longer also, from being always in the open air. It is to be observed, that the Ar- 
naout is not a ujri^^ett language; the words of this song, therefore, as well as the one 
which follows, are spelt according to their pronunciation. They are copied by one 
who speaks and understands the dialect perfectly, and who is a native of Athens. 



1. 

Ndi sefda tinde uiavossa 
Vettimi upri vi lofsa. 

2. 
Ah vaisisso mi privi lofse 
Si fhi rini mi la vosse. 

3. 

Uti tasa roba stua 
Sitti eve tulati dua. 



1. 

I am wounded by thy love, and have 
loved but to scorch myself. 

2. 
Thou hast consumed me ! Ah, 
maid ! thou hast struck me to the 
heart. 



I have said I wish no dowry, but 
thine eyes and eye-lashes. 



Roba stinori ssidua 
Q,u mi smi vetti dua. 

5. 
Q,urmini dua civileni 
Roba ti siarmi tildi eni. 



The accursed dowry I want not, 
but thee only. 

5. 

Give me thy charms, and let the 
portion feed the flames. 



Utara pisa vaisisso me 

simi rin ti hapti 
Et mi hire a piste si gui 

dendroi tiltati. 



I have loved thee, maid, with a sin 
cere soul, but thou hast left mo 
like a withered tree. 



♦ The Albanese, particularly the women, are frequently termed " Galiriotes • * 
for what reason I ■squired in vain. 



76 APPENDIX TO 

7. 

Udi vura udorini udivi ci- If I have placed my hand on thy 

cova cilti mora bosom, what have I gained ? my 

Odormi talti iioUna u ede hand is withdrawn, but retains 

caimoni mora. the flame. 

I believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a different measure, ought to belong 
to another ballad. An idea something similar to the thought in the last lines waa 
expressed by Socrates, whose arm havmgcome in contact with one of his " viroKoX- 
ft.oi,'" Critobulus or Cleobulus, the philosopher complained of a shooting pain as 
fe.r as his shoulder fu*r some days after, and therefore very properly resolved to teacb 
bis (/^» 'es in future without touching them. 



Note [DJ. See p. 62. 



" JFatr Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! 

Immortal, though no more ; though fallen y great ! " 

Stanza Ixxiii. lines 1. and 2. 
I. 

Before I say any thing about a city of which every body, traveller or not, has 
thought it necessary to say something, I will request Miss Owenson, w hen she next 
borrows an Athenian heroine for her four volumes, to have the goodness to marry 
her to somebody more of a gentleman than a " Disdar Aga," (who by the by is not 
an Aga,) the most impolite of petty officers, the greatest patron of larceny Athens 
ever ^aw, (except Lord E.) and the unworthy occupant of the Acropolis, on a hand- 
some annual stipend of 130 piastres, (eight pounds sterling,) out of which he has 
only to pay his garrison, the most ill-regulated corps in the ill-regulated Ottoman 
Empire. I speaU it tenderly, seeing I was once the cause of the husband of " Ida 
of Athens" nearly suffering the bastinado; and because the said " Disdar" is a 
turbulent husband, and beats his wife; so that I exhort and beseech Miss Owenson 
to sue for a separate maintenance in behalf of " Ida." Having premised thus much 
on a matter of such import to the readers of romances, I may now leave Ida, to 
mention her birthplace. 

Setting aside the magic of the name, and all those associations which it would be 
pedantic and superfluous to recapitulate, the very situation of Athens would rendei 
it the favourite of all who have eyes for ari or nature. The climate, to me at least 
appeared a perpetual spring ; during eight months I never passed a day without be- 
ing as many hours on horseback : rain is extremely rare, snow never lies in the 
plains, and a cloudy day is an agreeable rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part 
of the East which I visited, except Ionia and Attica, I perceived no such superiority 
of climate to our own ; and at Constantinople, where I passed May, June, and part 
of July, (1810.) you might "damn the climate, and complain of spleen," five days 
out of seven. 

The air of the Morea is heavy and unwholesome, but the moment you pass the 
isthmus in the direction of Megara the change is strikingly perceptible. But I fear 
Hesiod win still be found correct in his description of a Boeotian winter. 

We found at Livadia an '* esprit fort" in a Greek bishop, of all fiee-thinkers '. 
This worthv hypocrite rallied his own religion with great intrepidity, (but not before 
his flock,) and" talked of a mass as a " coglioneria." It was impossible to think 
better of him for this ; but, for a Boeotian, he was brisk with all his absurdity. — 
This phenomenon (with the exception indeed of Thebes, the remains of Choeronea, 
the plain of Platea, Orchomenus, Livadia, and its nominal cave of Trophonius) was 
the only remarkable thing we saw before we passed Mount Cithseron. 

The fountain of Ditce turns a mill : at least my companion (whS, resolving to be 
at once cleanly and classical, bathed in it) pronounced it to be the fountam cf Dirce, 
and any bodvwho thinks it worth while may contradict him. At Castri we drank 
of half a dozen streamlets, some not of the purest, before we decided to our satis- 
f«ction which was the true Castahan, and even that had a villanous twang, proba* 



CANTO THE SECOND. 77 

oly from the snow, though it did not throw us into an epic fever, like poor Di. 

Chandler. 

From Fort Phyle, of which large remains still exist, the Plain of Athens, Pente- 
licus, Hymettus, the iEgean, and the Acropolis, burst upon the eye at once ; in my 
opmion, a more glorious prospect than even Cintra or Istambol. Not the view from 
the Troad, with Ida, the Hellespont, and the more distant Mount Athos, can equal 
it, though so superior in extent. 

I heard much of the beauty of Arcadia, but excepting the view from the monas- 
tery of Megaspelion, (which is inferior to Zitza in a command of country,) and the 
descent from the mountains on the way from Tripohtza to Argos, Arcadia has little 
to recommend it beyond the name. 

" Sternitur, et dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos." 

Virgil could have put this into the mouth of none but an Argive, and (with reve- 
rence be it spoken) it does not deserve the epithet. And if the Polynices of Statius, 
•' In mediis audit duo litora campis," did actually hear both shores in crossin^r the 
isthmus of Corinth, he had better ears than have ever been worn in such a journey 
since. 

"Athens," says a celebrated topographer, "is still the most polished city ol 
Greece." Perhaps it may of Grreece, but not of the Greeks; for Joannina in Epirus 
is universally allowed, amongst themselves, to be superior in the wealth, refinement, 
learning, and dialect of its inhabitants. The Athenians are remaikable for their 
cunning ; and the lower orders are not improperly characterized in that proverb 
which classes them with " the Jews of Salonica, and the Turks of the Negropont.' 

Among the various foreigners resident in Athens, French, Italians, Germans, 
Ragusans, &c. there was never a diiference of opinion in their estimate of the 
Greek character, though on all other topics they disputed with great acrimony. 

M. Fauvel, the French consul, who has passed thirty years principally at 
Athens, and to whose talents as an artist and manners as a gentleman, none who 
have known him can refuse their testimony, has frequently declared in my hearing, 
that the Greeks do not deserve to be emancipated ; reasoning on the grounds ot 
their " national and individual depravity !" while he forgot that such depravity is to 
be attributed to causes which can only be removed by the measure he reprobates. 

M. Roque, a French merchant of respectability long settled in Athens, asserted 
with the most amusing gravity, " Sir, they are the same canaille that existed in the 
days of Themistocles ! " an alarming remark to the " Laudator temporis acti." The 
ancients banished Themistocles 5 the moderns cheat Monsieur Roque : thus great 
men have ever been treated ! 

In short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and most of the Englishmen, Germans, 
Danes, &c. of passage, came over by degrees to their opinion, on much the same 
grounds that a Turk in England would condemn the nation by wholesale, because 
he was wronged by his lacquey, and overcharged by his washerwoman. 

Certainly it was not a little staggering when the Sieurs Fauvel and Lusieri, the 
two greatest demagogues of the day, who divide between them the power of Peri- 
cles and the popularity of Cleon, and puzzle the poor Waywode with perpetual dif- 
ferences, agreed in the utter condemnation, " nulla virtute redemptum," of the 
Greeks in general, and of the Athenians in particular. 

For my own humble opinion, I am loth to hazard it, knowing as I do, that there 
be now in MS. no less than five tours of the first magnitude and of the most threat- 
ening aspect, all in typographical array, by persons of wit, and honour, and regular 
common-place books : but, if I may say this without offence, it seems to me rather 
hard to declare so positively and pertinaciously, as almost every body has declared, 
that the Greeks, because they are very bad, will never be better. 

Eton and Sonnini have led us astray by their panegyrics and projects ; but, on 
the other hand, De Pauw and Thornton have debased the Greeks beyond their 
demerits. 

The Greeks wil never be independent ; they will never be sovereigns as hereto- 
fore, and God forbid they ever should ! but they may be subjects without being 
slaves. Our colonies are not independent, but they are free and industrious, and 
such may Greece be hereafter. 

At present, like the Catholics of Ireland and the Jews throughout the world, and 
such other cudgelled and heterodox people, they suffer all thie moral and physical 
ills that can afflict humanity. Their life is a struggle against truth ; they are vi- 
cious in their own defence. They are so unused to kindness, that when they occa*. 

'J* 



78 APPENDIX TO 

sionally meet with it they look upon it with suspicion, as a dog often beaten snapa 
at your fingers if you attempt to caress him. " They are ungrateful, notoriously, 
abominably ungrateful ! " — this is the general cry. Now, in the name of Nemesis 
for what are they to be grateful 7 Where is the human being that ever conferred a 
benefit on Greek or Greeks'.' They are to be grateful to the Turks for their fet- 
ters, and to the Franks for their broken promises and lying counsels. They are to 
be grateful to the artist who engraves their ruins, and to the antiquary who carries 
them away ; to the traveller whose janissary flogs them, and to the scribbler whose 
journal abuses them! This is the amount of their obligations to foreigners. 



II. 

Franciscan Convent, Athens, January 23. 1811. 

Amongst the remnants of the barbarous policy of the earlier ages, are the traces of 
Dondage which yet exist in different countries ; whose inhabitants, however divided 
m religion and manners, almost all agree in oppression. 

The English have at last compassionated their Negroes, and under a less bigoted 
government, may probably one day release their Catholic brethren : but the inter- 
position of foreigners alone can emancipate the Greeks, who, otherwise, appear to 
have as small a chance of redemption from the Tuiks, as the Jews have from man- 
kind in general. 

Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough ; at least the younger men of 
Europe devote much of their time to the study of the Greek writers and history, 
which would be more usefully spent in mastering their own. Of the moderns, we 
are perhaps more neglectful than they deserve ; and while every man of any pre- 
tensions to learning is tiring out his youth, and often his age, in the study of the 
language and of the harangues of the Athenian demagogues in favour of freedom, 
the real or supposed descendants of these sturdy republicans are left to the actual 
tyranny of their masters, although a very shght effort is required to strike oli their 
chains. 

To talk, as the Greeks themselves do, of their rising again to their pristine supe- 
riority, would be ridiculous ; as the rest of the world must resume its barbarism, 
after reasserting the sovereignty of Greece : but there seems to be no very great 
obstacle, except in the apathy of the Franks, to their becoming an useful depen- 
dency, or even a free state with a proper guarantee ; — under correction, however, 
be it spoken, for many and well-informed men doubt the practicability even of this. 

The Greeks have never lost their hope, though they are now more divided in 
opinion on the subject of their probable deliverers. Religion reconunends the Rus- 
sians ; but they have twice been deceived and abandoned by that power, and the 
dreadful lesson they received after the Muscovite desertion in the Morea has never 
been forgotten. The French they dislike ; although the subjugation of the rest of 
Europe will, probablv, be attended by the deliverance of cintinental Greece. The 
islanders look to the English for succour, as they have very lately possessed them- 
selves of the Ionian republic, Corfu excepted. But whoever appear with arms in 
their hands will be welcome ; and when that day arrives, Heaven have mercy on 
the Ottomans, they cannot expect it from the Giaours. 

But instead of considering what they have been, and speculating on what they 
may be, let us look at them as they are. 

And here it is impossible to reconcile the contrariety of opinions : some, particu- 
.arly the merchants, decrying the Greeks in the strongest language; others, gene- 
rally travellers, turning periods in their eulogy, and publishing very curious specu- 
lations grafted on their former state, which can have no more effect on their preseu< 
lot, tnan the existence of the Tncas on the future fortunes of Peru. 

One very ingenious person terms them the "natural allies of Englishmen;" 
another, no less ingenious, will not allow them to be the allies of any body, ai.d de- 
nies their very descent from the ancients ; a third, more ingenious than either, 
builds a Greek empire on a Russian foundation, and realizes (on paper) all tho 
chimeras of Catherine II. As to the question of their descent, what can it import 
whether the Mainotes are the lineal Laconians or not ? or the present Athenians 
as inditrenous as the bees of Hymettus, or as the grasshoppers, to Avhich they once 
likened themselves? What Englishman cares if he be of a Danish, Saxon, Norman. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 79 

or Trojan blood? or who, except a Welshman, is afflicted with a desire of being 
descended from Caractacus ? 

The poor Greeks do not so much abound in the good things of this world, as to 
render even their claims to antiquity an object of envy ; it is very cruel, then, in 
Mr. Thornton to disturb them in the possession of all that time has left them ; viz. 
their pedigree, of which they are the more tenacious, as it is all they can call their 
own. It would be worth while to publish together, and compare, the works of 
Messrs. Thornton and De Pauw, Eton and Sonnini ; paradox on one side, and 
prejudice on the other. Mr. Thornton conceives himself to have claims to public 
confidence from a fourteen years' residence at Pera ; perhaps he may on the sub« 
ject of the Turks, but this can give him no more insight into the real state of Greece 
and her inhabitants, than as many years spent in Wapping into that of the Western 
Highlands. 

The Greeks of Constantinople live in Fanal ; and if Mr. Thornton did not oftener 
cross the Golden Horn than his brother merchants are accustomed to do, I should 
place no great reliance on his information. I actually heard one of these gentlemen 
boast of their little general intercourse with the city, and assert of himself, with an 
air of triumph, that he had been but four times at Constantinople in as many years. 

As to Mr. Thornton's voyages in the Black Sea with Greek vessels, they gave 
him the same idea of Greece as a cruise to Berwick in a Scotch smack would of 
Johnnv Grot's house. Upon what grounds then does he arrogate the right of con- 
demning by wholesale a body of men, of whom he can know little ? It is rather a 
curious circumstance that Mr. Thornton, who so lavishly dispraises Pouqueville on 
every occasion of mentioning the Turks, has yet recourse to him as authority on 
the Greeks, and terms him an impartial observer. Now Dr. Pouqueville is as little 
entitled to that appellation, as Mr. Thornton to confer it on him. 

The fact is, we are deplorably in want of information on the subject of the Greeks, 
and in particular their literat,ure, nor is there any probability of our being better ac- 
quainted, till our intercourse becomes more intimate, or their independence con- 
firmed : the relations of passing travellers are as little to be depended on as the in- 
vectives of angry factors ; but till something more can be attained, we must be eon- 
tent with the little to be acquired from similar sources.* 

However defective these may be, they are preferable to the paradoxes of men 
who have read superficially of the ancients, and seen nothing of the moderns, such 
as De Pauw ; who, when he asserts that the British breed of horses is ruined by 
Newmarket, and that the Spartans were cowards in the field, betrays an equal 
knowledge of English horses and Spartan men. His " philosophical observations" 
have a much better claim to the title of " poetical." It could not be expected that 
he who so liberally condemns some of the most celebrated institutions of the an- 
cient, should have mercy on the modern Greeks ; and it fortunately happens, that 



* A word, en passaiit, with Mr. Thornton and Dr. Pouqueville, who have been 
guilty between them of sadly clipping the Sultan's Turkish. 

Dr. Pouqueville tells a long story of a Moslem who swallowed corrosive sublimate 
in such quantities that he acquired the name of" Suleyman Yeyen,^^ i. e. quoth the 
Doctor, " Suleyman, the eater of corrosive sublimate.^' " Aha," thinks Mr. Thorn- 
ton, (angry with the Doctor for the fiftieth time.) " have I caught you?" — Then, 
in a note twice the thickness of the Doctor's anecdote, he questions the Doctor's 
proficiency in the Turkish tongue, and his veracity in his own. — " For,' observes 
Mr. Thornton, (after inflicting on us the tough participle of a Turkish %erb.) " it 
means nothing more than Suleyman the eater" and quite cashiers the supplementary 
" sublimate." Now both are right, and both are wrong. If Mr. Thornton, when 
he next resides " fourteen years in the factory," will consult hi-s Turkish dictionary, 
or ask any of his Stamboline acquaintance, he will discover that " Suleyma^n ye- 
yen" put together discreetly, mean the " Sivallower of sublimate" without any 
" Suleyman" in the case: " Suleyma" signifying " corrosive sublimate" and not 
being a proper name on this occasion, although it be an orthodox name enough with 
the addition of n. After Mr. Thornton's frequent hints of profound Orientalism, he 
might have found this out before he sang such preans over Dr. Pouqueville. 

After this, I think " Travellers versus Factors" shall be oui motto, though the 
above Mr. Thot-ntnn has condemned " hoc oenus omne," for mistake j,nd misrepre- 
sentation. " Ne Sutor ultra crepidam " " No merchant beyond his bales." N, 
B. For the benefit of Mr. Thornton, " Sutor " is not a proper name. 



ftO APPENDIX TO 

the absurdity of his hypothesis on their forefathers refute* his sentence on them- 
selves. 

Let us trust, then, that, in spite of the prophecies of De Pauw, and the doubts of 
Mr. Thornton, there is a reasonable hope of the ledemption of a race of men, who 
whatever may be the errors of their religion and policy, have been amply punished 
by three centuries and a half of captivity. 



III. 

Athens, Franciscan Convent, March 17, 1811 

" I must have some talk with this learned Theban." 

Some time after my return from Constantinople to this city, I received the thirty- 
first number of the Edinburgh Review as a great favour, and certainly at this dis- 
tance an acceptable one, from the captain of an English frigate ofl" Salamis. In 
that number. Art. 3. containing the review of a French translation of Strabo, there 
are introduced some remarks on the modern Greeks and their literature, with a short 
account of Coray, a co-translator in the French version. On those remarks I mean 
to ground a few observations, and the spot where I now write will, I hope, be suffi- 
cient excuse for introducing them in a work in some degree connected with the sub- 
ject. Coray, the most celebrated of living Greeks, at least among the Franks, was 
born at Scio, (in the Review, Smyrna is stated, I have reason to think, incorrectly,) 
and, besides the translation of Beccaria and other works mentioned by the Review- 
er, has published a Lexicon in Romaic and French, if I may trust the assurance of 
some Danish travellers lately arrived from Paris ; but the latest we have seen here 
in French and Greek is that of Gregory Zolikogloou.* Coray has recently been 
involved in an unpleasant controveisy with Mr. Gail,t a Parisian commentator and 
editor of some transla ions from the Greek poets, in consequence of the Institute 
having awarded him the prize for his version of Hippocrates " Yltpi vSdrov,'" &c. to 
the disparagement, and consequently displeasure, of the said Gail. To his exer- 
tions, literary and patriotic, great praise is undoubtedly due, but a part of that praise 
ought not to be withheld from the two brothers Zosimado, (merchants settled in 
Leghorn.) who sent him to Paris, and maintained him for the express purpose of 
elucidating the ancient, and adding to the modern, researches of his countrymen. 
Coray, however, is not considered by his countrymen equal to some who lived in 
the two last centuries ; more particulaily Dorotheus of Mitylene, whose Hellenic 
writincrs are so much esteemed by the Greeks that Meletius "terms him, " Mird rdv 
QovKvhihriv kui 'S,£vo<puvTa cipiaTos 'EXAj/j'wv." (P. 224. Ecclesiastical History, 
vol. iv.) 

Panagiotes Kodrikas, the translator of Fontenelle, and Kamarases, who translat- 
ed Ocellus Lucanus on the Universe into French, Christodoulus, and more par- 
ticularly Psalida, whom I have conversed with in Joannina, are also in high repute 
among their literati. The last-mentioned has published in Romaic and Latin a 
work on " True Happiness," dedicated to Catherine II. But Polyzois, who is stat- 
ed by the Reviewer to be the only modern except Coray who has distinguished 
himself by a knowledge of Hellenic, if he be the Polyzois Lampanitziofes of Yanina, 
who has published a number of editions in Romaic, was neither more nor less than 
an itinerant vender of books; with the contents of which he had no concern beyond 
his name on the title-page, placed there to secure his property in the publication; 
and he was, moreover, a man utterly destitute of scholastic acquirements. As the 



* I have in my possession an excellent Lexicon " rpfyAtixro-ov," which I received 
a. exchange from S. G — , Esq. for a small gem : my antiquarian friends have never 
forgotten it, or forgiven me. 

t In Gail's pamphlet against Coray, he talks of " throwing the insolent Hellenist 
out of the windows." On this a French critic exclaims, " Ah, rny God ! throw an 
Hellenist out of the window ! what sacrilege I " It certainly would be a serious 
business for those authors who dwell in the attics : but I have quoted the passage 
merely to prove the similarity of style among the controversialists of all polished 
countries ; London or Edinburgh could haidly parallel this Parisian ebulition. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 8l 

name, however, is not uncommon, some other Polyzois may have edited the Epis- 
tles of Aristcenetus. 

It is to be regretted that the system of contmental blockade has closed' the fevi 
channels through which the Greeks received their publications, particularly Venice 
and Trieste. Even the common grammars for children are become too dear for the 
lower orders. Amongst their original works the Geograph}' of Meletius, Arch- 
bishop of Atheus, and a multitude of theological quartos and poetical pamphlets, are 
to be met with ; their grammars and lexicons of two, three, and four languages, are 
numerous and excellent. Their poetry is in rhyme. The most singular piece I 
have lately seen is a satire in dialogue between a Russian, English, and French 
traveller, and the Waywode of Wallachia, (or Blackbey, as they term him,) an 
archbishop, a merchant, and Cogia Bachi, (or primate,) in succession ; to all of 
whom under the Turks the writer attiibutes their present degeneracy. Their songs 
are sometimes pretty and pathetic, but their tunes generally unpleasing to the ear 
of a Frank : the best is the famous " Aevre iratSsg tSiv 'EXX;7i/a*v,"by the unfortunate 
Riga. But from a catalogue of more than sixty authors, now before me, only fifteen 
can be found who have touched on any theme except theology. 

I am intrusted with a commission by a Greek of Athens, named Marmarotouri, to 
make arrangements, if possible, for printing in London a translation of Barthelemi's 
Anacharsis in Romaic, as he has no other opportunity, unless he despatches the 
MS. to Vienna by the Black Sea and Danube. 

The Reviewer mentions a school established at Hecatonesi, and suppressed at 
the instigation of Sebastiani ; he means Cidonies, or, in Turkish, Haivali; a .jwn 
on the continent, where that institution for a hundred students and three professors 
still exists. It is true that this establishment was disturbed by the Poite, under the 
ridiculous pretext that the Greeks were constructing a fortress instead of a college : 
but on investigation, and the payment of some purses to the Divan, it-has been per- 
mitted to continue. The principal professor, named Ueniamin, (i. e. Benjanun,) is 
stated to be a man of talent, but a freethinker. He was born in Lesbos, studied in 
Italy, and is master of Hellenic, Latin, and some Frank languages ; besides a smat- 
tering of the sciences. 

Though it is not my intention to enter farther on this topic than may allude to the 
article in question, I cannot but observe that the Reviewer's lamentation over the 
tall of the Greeks appears singular, when he closes it with these words : " The 
change is to be attributed to their misfortunes rather than to any ' physical degrada- 
tion.'" Tl may be true that the Greeks are not physically degenerated, and that 
Constantinople contained, on the day when it changed masters, as many men of six 
feet and upwards as in the hour of prosperity ; but ancient history and modern poli- 
tics instruct us that something more than physical perfection is necessary to preserve 
a state in vigour and independence ; and the Greeks, in particular, are a melancholy 
example of the near connexion between moral degradation and national decay. 

The Reviewer mentions a plan, " we believe" by Potemkin, for the purification of 
the Romaic, and I have endeavoured in vain to procure any tidings or traces of its 
existence. There was an academy in St. Petersburgh for the Greeks; but it was 
suppressed by Paul, and has not been revived by his successor. 

There is a slip of the pen, and it can only be a slip of the pen, in p. 58, No. 31, 
of the Edinburgh Review, where these words occur : — " We are told that when the 
capital of the East yielded to Solyman" — It may be presumed that this last word 
will, in a future edition, be altered to Mahomet II.* The " ladies of Constantinople * 

* In a former number of the Edinburcrh Review, 1808, it is observed : " Lord 
Byron passed some of his early years in Scotland, where he might have learned that 
■pibroch does not mean a bagpipe, any more than duet means s. ^fiddle." ~ duery. — 
Was it in Scotland that the voung gentlemen of the Edinburgh Review learned that 
Solyman means Mahomet II. any more than criticism means infaliibility ? — but thus 
it is. 

" Caedimus inque vicem prrebemus crura sagittis. ' 

The mistake seemed so com])lete]y a lapse of the pen (from the great similarity of 
the two words, and the total absence of error from the former pages of the literary 
leviathan) that I should have passed it over as m the text, had I not perceived in the 
Edinburgh Review much facetious exultation on all such detections, particularly a 
recent one, where words and syllables are subjects of disquisition and transposition; 
and the above-mentioned parallel passage in my own case irresistibly propelled Tie 
to hint how much easier it is to be critical than correct. The gentlemen, having en 



82 APPENDIX TO 

it seems, at that period spoke a dialect, " which would not have disgraced the 
lips of an Athenian." I do not know how that might be, but am sorry to say the 
ladies in general, and the Athenians in particular, are much altered ; being far from 
choice either in their dialect or expressions, as the whole Attic race are barbarous to 
a proverb : 

" Si KOrjva irporr] ^wpo 
Ti yaiSapovs T^cpu^ rwpa*" 

In Gibbon, vol. x. p. 161 , is the following sentence : — " The vulgar dialect of the crty 
was gross and barbarous, though the compositions of the church and palace some- 
limes affected to copy the purity of the Attic models." Whatever may be asserted 
on the subject, it is difficult to conceive that the " ladies of Constantinople," in the 
reign of the last Caesar, spoke a purer dialect than Anna Comnena wrote three 
centuries before : and those royal pages are not esteemed the best models of com- 
position, although the princess yXa»7-rav tix'^v AKPIBiii; Arrut^ovo-av. In the Fanal, 
and in Yanina, the best Greek is spoken : in the latter there is a flourishing school 
under the direction of Psalida. 

There is now in Athens a pupil of Psalida's, who is making a tour of observation 
through Greece : he is intelligent, and better educated than a fellow-commoner of 
most colleges. I mention this as a proof that the spirit of inquiry is not dormant 
among the Greeks. 

The Reviewer mentions Mr. Wright, the author of the beautiful poem '* Horae 
lonicae," as qualified to give details of these nominal Romans and degenerate Greeks, 
and also of their language : but Mr. Wright, though a good poet and an able man, 
has made a mistake where he states the Albanian dialect of the Romaic to approxi- 
mate nearest to the Hellenic : for the Albanians speak a Romaic as notoriously cor- 
rupt as the Scotch of Aberdeenshire, or the Italian of Naples. Yanina, (where 
next to the Fanal, the Greek is purest,) although the capital of Ali Pacha's domi- 
nions, is not in Albania but Epirus ; and beyond Delvinachi in Albania Proper, up 
to Argyrocrastro and Tepaleen, (beyond which I did not advance,) they speak worse 
Greek than even the Athenians. I was attended for a year and a half by two of 
these singular mountaineers, whose mother tongue is Illyric, and I never heard 
them or their countrymen (whom I have seen, not only at home, but to the amount 
of twenty thousand in the army of Vely Pacha) praised for their Greek, but often 
laughed at for their provincial barbarisms. 

I have in my possession about twenty-five letters, amongst which some from theBey 
of Corinth, written to me by Notaras, the Cogia Bachi, and others by the dragoman 
of the Caimacam of the Morea, (which last governs in Vely Pacha's absence,) are 
said to be favourable specimens of their epistolary style. I also received some at 
Constantinople from private persons, v/ritten in a most hyperbolical style, but in the 
true antique character. 

The Reviewer proceeds, after some remarks on the tongue in its past and present 
state, to a paradox (page 59) on the great mischief the knowledge of his own lan- 
guage has done to Coray, who, it seems, is less likely to understand the ancient 
Greek, because he is perfect master of the modern ! This observation follows a 
paragraph, recommending, in explicit terms, the study of the Romaic, as " a po\yer- 
ful auxiliary," not only to the traveller and foreign merchant, but also to the classical 
scholar ; in short, to every body except the only person who can be thoroughly ac- 
quainted with its uses ; and by a parity of reasoning, our old language is conjectured 
to be probably more attainable by " foreigners," than by ourselves ! Now. I am in- 
clined to think,that a Dutch Tyro in our tongue (albeit himself of Saxon blood) would 
be sadly perplexed with " Sir Tristrem," or any other given " Auchinleck MS." with 
or without a grammar or glossary ; and to most apprehensions it seems evident that 
none but a native can acquire a competent, far less complete, knowledge of our obso- 
lete idioms. We may give the critic credit for his ingenuity, but no more believe 
him than we do Smollett's Lismahago, who maintains that the purest English is 
spoken in Edinburgh. That Coray may err is very possible ; but if he does, the 
fault is in the man rather than in his mother tongue, which is, as it ought to be, oi 
the greatest aid to the native student. — Here the Reviewer proceeds to business on 
Strabo's translators, and here I close my remarks. 

Sir W. Drummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aberdeen, Dr. Clarke, Captain Leake, 
Mr. Gell, Mr. Walpole, and many others now in England, have all the requisites to 

ioyed many a triumph on such victories, will hardly begrudge me a slight ovation fof 
>he present. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 83 



, * 



furnish details of this fallen people. The few observations I have offered I should 
have left where I made them, had not the article in question, and above all the spot 
where I read it, induced me to advert to those pages, which the advantage of my 
present siiuation enabled me to clear, or at least to make the attempt. 

I have endeavoured to wave the personal feelings, which rise in despite of me in 
touching upon any part of the Edmburgh Review; not from a wish to conciliate 
the favour of its writers, or to cancel the remembrance of a syllable I have formerly 
published, but simply from a sense of the impropriety of mixing up private resent- 
ments with a disquisition of the present kind, and more particularly at this distance 
of time and place. 



ADDITIONAL NOTE, 

ON THE TURKS. 



The difficulties of travelling in Turkey have been much exaggerated, or rather 
have considerably diminished of late years. The Mussulmans have been beaten 
into a kind of sullen civility, very comfortable to voyagers. 

It is hazardous to say much on the subject of Turks and Turkey ; since it is possible 
to live among them twenty years without acquiring information, at least from them- 
selves. As far as my own slight experience carried me, I have no complaint to 
make ; but am indebted for many civilities, (I might almost say for friendship,) and 
much hospitality, to Ali Pacha, his son Veli Pacha of the Morea, and several 
others of high rank in the provinces, Suleyman Aga, late Governor of Athens, and 
now of Thebes, was a bon vivant, and as social a bemg as ever sat cross-legged at a 
tray or a table. During the carnival, when our English party were masquerading, 
both himself and his successor were more happy to " receive masks" than any 
dowager in Grosvenor-square. 

On one occasion of his supping at the convent, his friend and visitor, the Cadi ot 
Thebes, was carried from table perfectly qualified for any club in Christendom, 
while the worthy Waywode himself triumphed in his fall. 

In all money transactions with the Moslems, I ever found the strictest honour, 
the highest disinterestedness. In transacting business with them, there are none of 
those dirty peculations, under the name of interest, difference of exchange, commis- 
sion, &c. &c. unifonnily found in applying to a Greek consul to cash bills, even on 
the first houses in Pera. 

With regard to presents, an established custom in the East, you will rarely find 
yourself a loser ; as one worth acceptance is generally returned by another of similai 
value — a horse, or a shawl. 

In the capital and at court the citizens and courtiers are formed in the same school 
with those of Christianity ; but there does not exist a more honourable, friendly, 
and high-spirited character than the true Turkish provincial Aga, or Moslem country 
gentleman. It is not meant here to designate the governors of towns, but those 
Agas who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess lands and houses, of more or less ex- 
tent, in Greece and Asia Minor. 

The lower orders are in as tolerable discipline as the rabble in countries with 
greater pretensions to civilization. A Moslem, in walking the streets of our country 
towns, would be more incommoded in England than a Frank in a similar situation 
in Turkey. Regimentals are the best travelling dress. 

The best accounts of the religion and different sects of Islamism, may be found 
in D'Ollison's French ; of their manners, &c. perhaps in Thornton's English. The 
Ottomans, with all their defects, are not a people to be despised. Equal, at least, 
to the Spaniards, they are superior to the Portuguese. If it be difficult to pronounce 
what they are, we can at least say what they are no^ ; they are not treacherous, 
they are not cowardly, they do not burn heretics, they are not assassins, nor has an 
enemy advanced to their capits!. They are faithful to their sultan till he becomes 
unfit to govern, and devout to their God without an inquisition. Were they driven 
from St. Sophia to-morrow, and the French or Russians enthroned in their stead. 
It would become a question, whether Europe would gain by the exchange "^ England 
would certainly be the loser. 

With regard to that ignorance of which they are so generally, and sometimes 



84 APPENDIX TO 

jiistlv accused, it may be doubted, always excepting France and England, m wna 
useful points of knowledge iliey are excelled by other nations. Is it in the coniniou 
arts of life ? In their numufactures ? Is a Turkish sabre inferior to a Toledo ? or 
is a Turk worse cloihed or lodged, or fed and tauoht, than a Spaniard? Are their 
Pachas worse educated than a Grandee? or an Eiiendithan a Knight of bt. Jago? 
I think not. 

I leineniber Mahmout, the grandson of Ali Pacha, askinii whether my fellow-tra- 
veller and invself were in tho upper or lower House of Parliament. Now, this 
question tVoina boy often years old pioved that his education had not been neglected. 
It mav be doubted if an English boy at that age knows the ditierence of the Divan 
from ti CoUeiie of Dervises ; but 1 am very sure a Spaniard does not. How little 
Mahmout, surrounded, as he had been, entirely by his Turkish tutors, had learned 
that there was such a thing as a Parliament, it were useless to conjecture, unless we 
suppose that his instructors did not confine his studies to »he KoVan. 

In all the mosques there are schools established, which are very regularly attend- 
ed ; and the poor are taught without the church of Turkey being put into peril. I 
believe the svsteni is not" yet printed ; (though there is such a thing as a Turkish 
press, and books printed oil the late military institution of the Nizam Gedidd :) nor 
have i heard whether the ]\[ufii and the IMollas have subscribed, or the Caimacam 
and the Teflerdar taken the alarm, for fear the ingenuous youth of the turban shoul ' 
be tauirht not to " pi ay to God their way." The Greeks also — a kind of Eastern 

Irish papists have a college of theii own at JNlaynooth — no, :it Haivali; where 

the heterodox receive much the same kind of countenance from the Ottoman as the 
Catholic collese from the Enijlish legislature. "Who shall then aflirm that the Turks 
are iiinorant bijiots, when they thus evince the exact proportion of Christian charily 
which is tolerated in the most prosperous and orthodox of all possible kingdoms ? 
But. thouirh they allow all this, they will not suffer the Greeks to participate in their 
priviiciies'^: no, let them fight their baitles. and pay their haralch. (taxes,) be drifb^^ 
bed inUiis world, and damned in the next. Andsliall we then emancipate our Irish 
Helots '! JVl a hornet forbid ! AVe should then be bad JNIussulmans, and worse Chris- 
tians ; at present we unite tlie best of both — Jesuitical faith, and something not much 
mferior to Turkish toleration. 



Among an enslaved people, obliged to have recourse to foreign presses even for 
their books of reli^Mon. it is less to be wondered at that we find so few publications 
on general subjects lluwi that we find any at all. The whole number of theGieeks, 
scaUered up aiid down the Turkish empire and elsewhere, may amount, at most, to 
three millions : and yet, for so scanty a number, it is impossible to discover any nation 
with so great a proportion of books and their authors, as the Greeks of the present 
century.'^ " Av, but say the generous advocates of oppression, who, while they 
assertthc ignorance of tlie Greeks, wish to prevent them from dispelling it, " ay. but 
these are rnostlv, if not all, ecclesiastical tracts, and consequently good for nothing." 
Well, and pray what else can they write about? It is pleasant enough to hear a 
Frank, particiilarlv an Englishman, who may abuse the government of his own 
country ; or a B'reiichman. who may abuse every government except his own, and 
who mav range at will over every philosophical, religious, scientific, skeptical, or 
moral subject, sneering at ihe Greek legends. A Greek must not write on politics, 
and cannot touch on science for want of instruction ; if he doubts, he is excommuni- 
cated and damned ; therefore his countrymen are not poisoned with modern philoso- 
phy ; and as to morals, thanks to the Turks ! there are no such things. What then 
IS left him. if he has a turn for scribbling? Religion, and holv biography : audit is 
natural enough that those who have so little in this life should look to the next. It 
is no treat wonder then that in a catalogue now before me of fifty-five Greek writers, 
nianv'of whom were latelv living, not above fifteen should have touched on any 
thing but religion. The catalogue alluded to is contained in the twenty-sixth chap- 
ter of the fourth volume of Meletius's Ecclesiastical History. From this I subjoin 
an extract of those who have written on general subjects ; which will be followed by 
Bf me specimens of the Romaic. 



CANTO THE SECOISD. 86 



LIST OF ROMAIC AUTHORS.* 

Neophitus, Diakonos (the deacon) of the Morea, has published an extonwve 
grammar, and also some political regulations, which last were left unfinished at his 

death. 

Prokopius, of Moscopolis, (a town in Epirus,) has written and published a cata^ 
logue of the learned Greeks. 

Seraphin, of Periclea, is the author of many works in the Turkish languaj^e, but 
Greek eharacter ; for the Christians of Carainania, who do not speak Romaic, but 
read the eharacter. 

Eusiatliius Psalidns, of Bucharest, a physician, made the tour of England for th« 
purpose of study (;^rfptv naOri<rcu>s) : but though his name is enumerated, it is not 
Btalerl thai he has written any thing. 

Kallinikus Torgeraus, Patriarch of Constantinople: many poems of his are ex- 
tant , and also prose tracts, and a catalogue of patriarchs since the last taking of Gon- 
staniiriople. 

Anasiasiiis Macedon, of Naxos, member of the royal academy of Warsaw. A 
church biographer. 

JJomctiius Patiiperes, a Moscopolite, has written many works, particularly " A 
Comtncnlary on Hesiod's Sliield of Hercules," and two hundred tales, (of what is 
not specified,) and has published his correspondence with the celebrated George ol 
Trt'bizoiid, his cotemporary. 

Mcletius a celebrated geographer; and author of the book from whence these no- 
tices are taken. 

Dorolhcus, of Mitylene, an Aristotelian philosopher: his Hellenic works are in 
great repute, and he is esteemed by the moderns (I quote the wocds of Meletius) 
fieTardv QovKvMSriv Kal iLevocboivTa apiaroi'K\\}jvu)v. I add further, on the authority 
of a well-informed Greek, that he w.is so famous among his countrymen, that they 
were accustomed to say, if Thucydides and Xenophon were wanting, he was capa- 
ble of repairing the loss. 

Marinus Count Tharboures, of Cephalonia, professor of chemistry in the academy 
of Padua, and member of that academy, and those of Stockhoim'and Upsal. He 
has published, at Venice, an account of some marine animal, and a treatise on the 
properties of iron. 

Marcus, brother to the former, famous in mechanics. He removed to St. Peters- 
burgh the immense rock on which the statue of Peter the Great was fixed in 1769. 
See the dissertation which he published in Paris, 1777. 

George Const antirie has published a four-tongued lexicon. 

George Ventote ; a lexicon in French, Italian, and Romaic. 

There exist several other dictionaries in Latin and Romaic, French, &c. besides 
grammars in every modern language, except English. 

Among the living authors the following are most celebrated : — t 

Atlianasius Panes has written a treatise on rhetoric in Hellenic. 

Christodoulos, an Acarnanian, has published, in Vienna, some physicaltreatises m 
Hellenic, 

Panagiotes Kodrikas,an Athenian, the Romaic translator of Fontenelle's " Plu- 
rality of Worlds," (a favourite work amongst the Greeks,) is stated to be a teacher 
of the Hellenic and Arabic languages in Paris ; in both of which he is an adept. 

Athanasius, the Parian, author of a treatise on rhetoric, 

Vicenzo Damodos, of Cephalonia, has written " c/jri ixcao6dp6apov, on logic and 
physics, 

John Kamarases, a Byzantine, has translated into French Ocellus on the Uni- 
verse, He is said to be an excellent Hellenist, and Latin scholar. 

Gregorio Demetrius published, in Vienna, a geographical work ; he has a.so 
irani^ated several Italian authors, and printed his versions at Venice. 

Of Coray and Psalida some account has been already given. 



* It is to be observed, that the names given are not in chronological order, but 
consist of some selected at a venture from among those who flourished from the taking 
of Constantinople to the lime of Meletius. 

Thess names are not taken from any publication. o 



S6 APPENDIX TO 

GREEK WAR SONG.* 
1. 

AET'TE, TratiJes twv 'EXA^vwr 

b Kalpoi T^i 66\t]i ^A0£V, 
oj ^avSifiEv a^ioi iKt'ivwv 

JToC fidi 6Ci)(7av TTiv ap;^»7V 
*Aff TtaTTiGOfiev avSpdcjs 

Tov ^vyov TTJs TvpavviSos» 
^KKSiKTJawnev iraTpi^os 

Kad' ovciSoi aiG^pdv. 
Ttt oirXa ug \d6u}fiEV 

soTaniSwv i'^dpwv TO aiixa 
Si Tpi\r] viro iroSiov. 

2. 
*Odev iladt twv 'EXA^yvwv 

K6KKaXa avSpeiofiiva, 
itv£V)jLaTa eaKupiriaficva, 

Tupa XaSere nvot]v ; 
^ar'rjv fcovi^v Tijs ffaAjrtA/crfj jjiov ; 

avva^d/jre o\a bnov 
TTJv ijird\o(pov '^TiTclre, 
Kal viKciTfKpb navTov. 

Td OTrAa us XdSwixev, &c. 
3. 

S^rapTa, STrdpra, t( KoifidaOt 
inrvov \T]dapyov (iaBvv ; 

^iTTVTjaov Kpa^E ^AOtjvas 
fftjfijxaxov TTavroTiivfiv. 

''Evdv[i£idr]Te AeovviSov 

lypoJOf TOV ^UKOCTTOV, 

TOii dvSpog ETtaivtfjivov, 
(poSepov Kai Tpofiepov. 

Td birXa us XdSwfXEV, &C. 
4. 

*0 xow sif Ttts QepjionvXas 

Tr6X£[iov avTos /cpora, 
<cat Toiis Ilfpffas d^avi^ei 

Kai avTuiv /card AcpaTEt • 
i/l(TpiaKO(jiovs av6pai 

ds Td KivTpov npo^upsiy 
Kai (OS Xeiov BvjubjiEvos, 

els TO alfxa twv (iovTEi. 

Td OTrAa as XdStDjjLev, &C. 



ROMAIC EXTRACTS. 

fmeoti^ *Ay<cAo$. Kai I'dAAos Kd[xvovT£g Tfjv jrepiTJYvoiv ttjs 'E>Aa'5';?, xat /SAftiuvrt? ti>» 
atikiav Triv KarduTaaiv, tipwTrjtjav KaTap\ds cva TpaiKov <bi\ES\r)va 6id vd fid' 
6ovv Ttjv alriav, u£t' avTov ha fi7iTpoiTo\iTt]v , tna eva iSAd^ixTEiv, IrreiTa ^vn 
9fayiJiaT£VTrjv , xai 'iva -npoccTwra. 

EtTTf fjiag w ipi\i\Xr]va, t&s 0fp£tS t/jv CK\a6iav 

Kai rrjv d-napiyop-nTOv twv TovpKwv Tvpavviav ; 

iruf Tal.i; ^vXals Kai vS^ia^ovi Kai CTjSrjpoira^iav 

TraiSwv, irap^hwv, yvvaiKwv aviiKOvcTuv (pOopelav ; 



♦ A translation of this sonj will be found among the smaller Foeras. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 

Aev etffSai iffclg a-Koyovoi fKdvoyv rwv ^"EW^vtap 
Twv i\Evd(fi)v /cat ao<pCi)V Kai Toiv fcXoiraTfiidiav ' 
Kal jrwf iKtivoi. a-nidvTjtTKov Sid tt)v iXevdepiav, 
Mai T(i)pa hui hitouKEiadai eh Ttroiav TvpavviaVf 
Kal irolov yivos wf icras lardQr] (putrianivov 
eh Trlv ffocpiav, Svvaittjv, eh k' HXa ^aKovaruevov • 
»Sj vvv sKaraaTtjffarc tjjv (p(i>TiVT]v 'EXXaOa. 
(iaSa ! wf eva (TKeXsOpov, w? aKOTEivrjv Xo^ira^av! 
'OiilXti, (pikraTC TpaiKE, ehi fiag rijv alnav : 
fiii KpvTTTtii TiiroTrjs rinu)v, At56 tjjv anopiav. 



87 



'O *IAE'AAHNOS. 



*Pa)(T(7-ay>cXo-yaXXot, 'EXXaj, Kal i')(i aXXoi, 

^rov, wf XfT£, T(}(70v iityaKriy 

vvv 61 ad\ta, Kal ava^ia 

a(p^ (pov (Ip^iatv rj ajxadia. 

bar' riiiTTOpovaav va rrjv ^virv^tTTf 

tout' eh TO ■)(^eipov r/jv bSrjyoviTt 

avT)) arcvd^ci ra tekvu Kpd^ei, 

ct6 va irpoK^TTTOVv 3Xa Trpooro^ei 

Kal t6tE f^TTl^El OTl KEpSl^El. 

ehpElv, bTTOv Wei vvv rrji <p\oyi^Ei 
Ma • '6arii ToXfitjar] va r^v ^VTiVrjcrri 
irdyei arbv aSrjv ;^wptff riva Kpiaiv. 

The above is the commencement of a long dramatic satire on the Greek priesthood, 
princes, and gentry ; it is contemptible as a composition, but perhaps curious as a 
specimen of their rhyme : I have the whole in MS. but this extract will be found 
sufficient. The Romaic in this composition is so easy as to render a version an 
insult to a scholar ; but those who do not understand the original will excuse the fol- 
lowing bad translation of what is in itself indifferent, 

TRANSLATION. 

A Russian, Englishman, and Frenchman making the tour of Greece, and observmg 
the miserable state of the countrv, interrogate, in turn, a Greek Patriot, to learn 
the cause ; afterwards an Archbishop, then a Vlackbey,* a Merchant, and Cogia 
Bachi or Primate. 

Thou friend of thy country ! to strangers record 
Why bear ye the yoke of the Ottoman Lord? 
Why bear ye these fetters thus tamely display'd, 
The wrongs of the matron, the stripling, and maid ? 
The descendants of Hellas'^ race are not ye ! 
The patriot sons of the sage and the free. 
Thus" sprung from the blo'xl of the noble and brave, 
To vilely exist as the Mussulman slave! 
Not such were the fathers your annals can boast, 
Who conquer'd and died for the freedom you lost! 
Not such was your land in her earlier hour, 
The day-star of nations in wisdom and power ! 
. And still will you thus unresisting increase, 

Oh shameful dishonour ! the darkness of Greece? 

Then tell us, beloved Achaean! reveal 

The cause of the woes which you cannot conceal. 

The reply of the Philellenist I have not translated, as it is no better than the ques- 
tion of the travelling triumvirate ; and the above will sufficiently show with what 
kind of composition the Greeks are now satisfied. I trust I have not much iujured 
the original in the few lines given as faithfully, and as near the 

" Oh, Miss Bailey ! unfortunate Miss Bailey ! " _ 

* Vlackbey, Prince of Wallachia. 



88 APPENDIX TO 

measure of the Romaic, as I could make them. Almost all their pieces, above a 
song, which aspire to tlie name of poetry, contain exactly the quantity of feet of. 

" A captain lold of Halifax, who. lived in coufntry quarters," 

which is in fact the present heroic couplet of the Romaic. 



SCENE FROM 'O KA^ENES. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF GOLDONI, BY SPERIDION VLANTI. 

2KHNH Kr'. 
IIAATZIAA els ti\v nSprav tov j(^avioVy Kai ol avuSev. 

IIAA. St Qee\ arrb rd napadvpi [xov icpnvT} vd ciKovau) Ti)v ^wvtjv tov avSpSg [lov ' Sv 
ax'TOi ^ivai i6u), €(f)9a(ja ere Kaipbv vii rbv l,evTpoiTidau). [Kvyaivsi 'ivag 6ov\os and ri 
{pyaarrjpi.] HaXKapiires jxov ai napaKaXCi Totos dvni fKct eh iKtivovs roiii dvrdSa ; 

AOTA. Tpj:7j ■^pi'/uij.ioi aVAptf. "Kvag b Kvp Efyfi'ioj, 6 d'AAoj b Kvp Maprtoj Na- 
TToXinivoi, Kai b rpiros b Ki'p Koi'tc Aiav^po<; ^ApSivTT;^. 

IIAA. ('Ai'«((f(7« eh txiiToi's Stv slvai b 'i'Xnj.iivios, uv o^iw? Sev aXXa^ev ivojjia.) 

AEA. N('i ^r] t) Ka\i] Tvx^>]Tov Kvp Kvycviov. [IlivtavTas .] 

OAOI. N(t yr/ vn y^. 

IIAA. {AvTOi elvat b nvfpag fiov ^(opis aWo.) KaXf avOpcoire Kdjic /kou ttjv ^apiv 
va iA{ avvTpo<l>ev(rt]g dndvio eti avTovs tovs dtpevrdSes, bnov •&Au) vd rovi jra^o) fxiav, 
[npd<r TOV dui'Xov.] 

AOT. 'Opj«r^<(5f (THj • (ovvrjOiajxivov d^<ptKiou rSv SovXevTC}v.) [T>)v f//7ra|£t anb ri 
fpydffD/pi TOO TzatyriSiov.^ 

PIA. Knp^td, Kap5id, KdfitTt Ka\7\v KapSidv, 6iv elvai t'l-kotes, [Upoj r^v Btrrd- 
piav.'\ 

BIT. 'Eyw alaQdvojiai rrw? n-tSaiviii • [Jlvvip^cTai ds Tbv iavT6v ri/j.] 

['Atto -(} -rrapddvpa twv 6vTd5u)v faivovTai oAot, birov (xrjK6v<i)VTni dnb ri 
TpuTTf^i ffry^io-Hfvoi, 6id Tbv ^a(pvi(7ixbv tov AedvSpov fiXiiriDVTas ttjV 
Il\dT\,i5a, Kat CiuTi avTbg del^vei ttwj ^iXei vd tjjv ^ovevffj}.] 

EIT. "0^'. (TTaOijTE. 

MAP. Mt)v Kd^VBTE. . . 

AEA. 2(KW, (pvye air' f^tu. 

IIAA. Boi'idtta. (5oij9eia. [<l>£i)y£t anb Tfjv aKaXav, b AiavSpo;, ^iXci vd t^v aKo- 
XovOtjari jxf TO (nraOi. Kai b 'E.vyTbv jSaora.] 

TPA. [Mf eva nidTO fjif ipayt etj ftiav n£TZ,iTa nriSgi dnb rb napaOvpi, Kai ^tiyEi els 
rbv Kaipev(/\ 

IIAA. [EvyaivEL dnb Tb ipyacT^pi tov naiyviSiov Tpi^ioiTas, Kat cpeiyEi els t5 
"X^dvi .] 

EYF. [Mf dpi-taTa eIs Tb j(^ipi npbg 5ia(pivT£vaiv Trjs TlXaT^^iSas, ivavTlov tov Aedv- 
Spiiv. bnZ Ti)v KaTarpiyei.^ 

MAP. KvyaivEi Kat aurbg ciyd Giyd dnb ro ipyatTT/jpi, Kai (pEiyEi Afywvraf.] Rumo- 
res fuse. [Pou^/fpjj cftouyc.]* 

01 AovXoi. y Anb Tb ipyacTTjpi dnEpvovv els Tb xd"*"-' '^«' kXeiovv t^v ndpTav.^ 

BIT. [Mn'£t Eis Tbv Kacptvc liotjdiiufvrj dnb tov 'PiSdXtpov.] 

AEA. A6o£te T6nov • SfXiapivd e^i6(i> vd EfilSu) eIs iKelvo Tb ;\;a»'£. [Mf Tb anadi EisTb 
y f • ivavTlov Tov ^vyeriov.^ 

EYF. "Oyj, ftri yh'oiTO noTt Eiaai Ivas aXrjpdKapSos ivavTtov rijs yvvaiKds cov, Kai 
iyu) SfXei Trjv Sia(p£VTEV(Tix) los eIs Tb vaTcpov ai[xa. 

AEA. "Zov Kdnvu) opKOv ttw? &iXEi to fiETavoiwcrjis. [Kivr/yif Tbv "Eiiyiviov fie rd 
CTaBL] 

KYT. Arv (Tf (poSoTfixai. [KaTaTpixEi Tbv AeavSpov, Kai tov fSid^Ei vd crvpQrf dnhtt 
t6(tov, bnov EhpiaKwvTas dvoiKTOV Tb anrJTi Tijs ^(optiTpias E^iBalvEi els avTb, Kat eaV' 
crai.J 

* AAyos XariviKbs, birou ^iXeivd elnjj' <peiys rdls aiy;^tff«f. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 



89 



TRANSLATION. 
Platztda/rom the Door of the Hotel, and the Others, 
Pla. Oh God ! from the window it seemed that I heard my husband's voice. Il 
he is here, I have arrived in time to make him ashamed. [A Servant enters from 
the Shop.] Boy, tell me, pray, who are in those chambers. 

Serv. Three gentlemen: one, Signor Eugenio; the other. Signer Martio, the 
Neapolitan; and the third, my Lord, the Count Leander Ardenti, 
Pla. Flamuiio is not among these, unless he has changed his name. 
Leander. [IVithin drinking.] Long live the good fortune of Signor Eugenic. 

iThe whole Company, Long live, &c.] (Literally, N« ^rj,va Q, May he live.) 
*/a. Without doubt that is my husband. [To the Serv.] My good man, do me 
the favour to accompany me above to those gentlemen ; I have some business. 

Serv. At your commands. [Aside.] The old office of us waiters. [He goes 
out of the Ganmig-House.] 

Ridolpho, [To Victoria on another part of the stage.] Courage, courage, be of 
good chcei , it is nothing. 

Victoria. I feel as if about to die. [Leaning on him as if fainting.] 

[From the windows above all within are seen rising from table in confusion: 
Leander starts at the sight q/'Platzida, and appears by his gestures to threaten 
her life. 

Fugenio. No, slop 

Marlio. Don't attempt 

Leander. Away, fly from hence ! 

Pla. Help I Help! [Flies down the stairs, \j&a.nAev attempting to follow with his 
sword, Eugenio hinders him.] 

[Traftpola with a plate of meat leaps over the balcony from the window, and runs into 
the Cojf'ee-Hnuse.] 

[Plaizida runs out of the Gaming-House , and takes shelter in the Hotel.] 
[IVIartio steals softly out of the Gaming-House, and goes off, exclaiming " Rumores 
fuge." The Servants from the Gaming-House enter the Hotel, and shut the door.] 

[Victoria remains in the Coffee-House assisted by Ridolpho.] 
fjeander sword in hand opposite Eugenio exclaims, Give way — I will enter that 
hotel.] 

Eugenio. No, that shall never be. You are a scoundrel to your wife, and I will 
defend her to the last drop of my blood. 

Leander. I will give you cause to repent this. [Menacing with his sword.] 
Eugenio. I fear you not, [He attacks Leander, and makes him give hack so much, 
that Jinding the door of the dancing girfs house open, Leander escapes through, and 
so fnishes.] * 

* Sci)i'£rat — " finishes " — awkwardly enough, b>it it is the literal translation of the 
Romaic. The original of this comedy ofGoldoni's 1 never read, but it does not ap- 
pear one of his best. " II Bugiardo " is one of the most lively ; but I do not think 
it has been translated into Romaic : it is much more amusing than our own " Liar," 
by Foote. The character of Lelio is better drawn than Young Wilding. Goldoni's 
comedies amount to fifty: some perhaps the best in Europe, and others the worst. 
His life is also one of the best specimens of autobiography, and, as Gibbon has ob- 
served, " more dramatic than any of his plays." The above scene was selected ets 
containing some of the most familiar Romaic idioms, not for any wit which it displays, 
since there is more done than said, the greater j)art consisting of stage directions. 
The original is one of the few comedies by Goldoni which is without the bufToonerjf 
of the speaking Harlequin. 



90 



AFFENDIX TO 



AIA'AOrOI OI'KIAKOI. 

Am va ^'?r^o-j;f eva irpayiJ^a, 

SIf TrapaKoXdy 66asri ^£ av bpt^ire 

$fp£rf fis 

Aavsiaere [xs 

Hr]yaiveT£ vd ^r]T)](T£T£ 

Tcipa euOvs 

'Q, oLKpiSi jxov Kipu, Kd^itri fis airijv ttjv 

Xdyiv 
'Eyu» aag TrapaKaXiJi 
'Eyu> ads i^opKi'^u) 
'E/u) caj TO ^>]TQ) 5id X'^9^^ 
^Xito^pedacT £ [x£ £ii Toaov 

A6yia ipiOTiKa, ^ ayditiis. 

Zu)r} jxov 

^AnpiCij [lov ^V)(^^ 
*Ayan)]Ti jiov, uKpiSi jiov 
Kap5ir^a fiov 
Aydirrj jxov 



Familiar Dialooites. 

To ask for any thing. 

I pray you, give me if you please. 

Bring me. 

Lend me. 

Go to seek. 

Now directly. 

My dear Sir, do me this favour. 

I entreat you. 

I conjure you. 

I ask It of you as a favour, 

Oblige me so much. 

Aff'ectionate expreuionM. 

My life. 
My dear soul. 
My dear. 
My heart. 
My love. 



Aid vu £h)(upi(rTfiaris. vd Kafiijs TT£pinolr]<x£s, To thank, pay compliments ^ and ttatijji 
Koi (piKiKali 6£^i(i)a£s. regard. 



'Eyci, aaj £v^api(jTO) 

Sas Yvu)pi\)bi %af)t>' 

Saf eliiai vno^psos Kara iroWd 

*Eyti) &iXu) TO ndjiti uerd ^apdg 

Ml bXi'iv [xov Trjv Kapoiav 

Me Ka\i'jv jiov KapSiav 

2af £?/iui vw6)(^p£0S 

Et//at oAof ioLKos aas 

Ef/iai SuvXoi aas 

T«7r£tv(5raTo? 6ov\og 

E?OT£ Kara lioWd £Vy£VLKbi 
IIoAAa Ti£ipd^£(T9£ 

To eyo) 6id ^aodv fiov va rds ^oXfiJao) 
EioTt EvycviKOi Kai £VTrpoanYopos 
AvTO tivai npcTTOV 
VI ^e\£TE ; tI bpi>,£T£ ; 

2af TrapoKaXw vd [le [i£Ta)(^£ipi(,£<7de i\ei- 

Btoa 
Xtjjpii ir£piiToin(r£S 
Sav" dyaxCi i^ bXrjs juou KapSias 
Kat eyu) bjidiiiJi 

Ttfi/jaeT£ fit Tius irpoaayaTg (rag 
'^^£T£ riiroTEs vd fte TrpoaTd^£T£ ; 
npooTa^£r£ Tov SovXof aas 
Tlpo(Tjj.£Vu} rds -rrpocraydi eras 
Mf Kd[xv£r£ ixeydXr]}' Tintjv 
^9dvovv fj Txtpiixolriaci ads ttapaKaXS 
n.poaKvv)'}a£TE iKfiepovs i^ov tov dp^ovra, ij 

TOV y>')piov 
B£6aiu)a£T£ TOV TrtSj tov tvOvnoTifiai 
BeSaidJaETE tov ttw? tov dyaTrG) 

AiV ,9-Aw X£ilp£l va TOV TO ClTlCi 

TlooaKvvrJuaTa its Tt)v dp\6vTiaaav 
n.nY^^vsT£ iixTTpoadd Kai ads uKoXovdCi 
'H|6i'«p(i> KuXd rb ^(jpeos jtov 



I thank you. 

I return you thanks. 

I am much obliged to you. 

I will do it with pleasure. 

With all my heart. 

Most cordially. 

I am obliged to you. 

I am wholly yours. 

I am your servant. 

Your most humble seiTant. 

You are too obliging. 

You take too much trouble. 

I have a |fleasure in serving you. 

You are obliging and kind. 

That is right^ 

What is your pleasure ? 

Wiiat are your commands ? 

1 beg you will treat me freely. 

Without ceremony. 

I love you with all my heart. 

And I the same. 

Honour me \vith your commands. 

Have you any commands for me 1 

Command your servant. 

I wait your commands. 

You do me great honour. 

Not so mucn ceremony I beg. 

Present my respects to the gentleman, 

his lordship. 
Assure him of my remembrance. 
Assure him of my friendship. 
I will not fail to tell him of it. 
My compliments to her ladyship. 
Go before, and I will follow you, 
I well know my duty. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 



91 



*H^cipi)) ri ilvat jxov 

Mf Kdjivtrr. vd ivTp(ir(j)jxzi ji( rajj rdcais 

(piXofpoirvvais aas 
OiXsTC Xoi.ndii vd Kdjiu) [xiiv dp^eioTrjra ; 

'YTra/w inirpooOd Sid vd aai vT:aKoia(j) 
Aid vd Kdfid) TTtv irpo(TTay/iv aag 
Ah dyaTTcD rdaaig irepmoirjaes 
Aiv ujj.ai (TTcXdojg TttpnroiriTiKOS 
AVTO ClVUl TO KaXiTcpov 
Toaov TO KoXiTcpov 
''E;^£7-£ Xdyov, '^X^^^ diKaiov 

Aid vd ^cSaiiiaiis, vd apvrjOrJs vd croyKaTai- 

Klvai aXrjOivbv, tivai dXrjBiffTaTOV 

Aid vd adg slVco ti^v dXijOeiav 

OvTU)s, h'^t] eivai 

Woloi ujupidaXXzi ; 

Aiv eivai iroaioi djxfiSoXia 

To TTtOTSUO), dlv TO TTiaTtVd) 

Aiy^a to vui 

Aiyo) TO 0^1 

BdXXo) (jTi)(rijia '6ti ilvai 

BaAAu) <TTi)0fia on 6;v eJvai er^rj 

Nat, fid TYjv nioTiv [xov 

E/s" Tijv (TvveiSriaiv jxov 

Md TrjV ^u)^v fiov 

Nat, ads ^fivvia 

Xaj djJLVvo) >l)(Tdv TefxTjiJiivos avOpo)vos 

Saf djjLVvci) iirdvii) eis ti^v Tijxfjv jjlov 

IliffTCvacTE jie 

'H/-(7ropai vd <jds rb PcBan^au) 

"HQiXa (iaXj] ctixvi^i, on ^iXcTC 5id tovto 

Mi] Ti^j} Kul uardt^taQt (i^opartitrc ;) 

'OjjiXiiTt ix£ Ttt oXa aai ; 

'Eyw aas bjtiXu) jxe Td oXa fioVy Kal adg Xiyu) 

r/)v dXrjdciav 
'Eyw ads to (ieSanUvti 
To iirpocprjTsiaeTe 
To iinTcux^Te ft 

Ylpii^ei vd ads TTiaTciaay 

AvTO 6{v eivai uSvvutov 

T'' Xuiirbv as Eivai {jls KaXr^v (bpav 

KaXd, KaXd 

Aiv etvai uXr]divbv 

Klvai ^r.vbss 

Aiv elvai tittotzs "T^ awri 

Yilvai 'iva ^cTiSus jxia uirdTrj 

'Eyw uaT£i^nfiovv {c^opaTCva ) 

'Eyw to zlira 6id vd yeXdad) 

Tji uXrjOciq 

Ml upiaei caTd noXXd 

'S,vYKaTavt6o) els tovto 

AWu) tjjv fpTJcpov [jiov 

Aiv uvnaTiKojxai els tovto 

£"/.(«£ ab^icpijivos, iK av[x(j)U)vov 

'Eyw Siv ^f Aw 

'Eydi IvavTiwvojiai els tovto 

Aia vd dtjiSovXevOrls , vd aT0')(^aa9/js^ ^ vci 
utrofaaiarjs 

Tl itpiKti vd Kanwixev ; 



I know my situation. • 

You confound me with so much civility. 

Would you have me then be guilty of an 

incivility ? 
I go before to obey you. 
To comply with your command. 
I do not like so much ceremony. 
I am not at all ceremonious. 
This is better. 
So much the better. 
You are in the right. 

To affirm, deny, consent, &c. 

It is true, it is very true. 

To tell you the truth. 

Really, it is so. 

Who doubts it ? 

There is no doubt. 

I believe it, I do not believe it. 

1 say yes. 

I say no. 

I wager it is. 

I wager it is not so. 

Yes, by my faith. 

In conscience. 

By my life. 

Yes, I swear it to you. 

I swear to you as an honest man. 

I swear to you on my honour. 

Believe me. 

I can assure you of it. 

I would lay what bet you piease on this. 

Your jest by chance ? 

Do you speak seriously ? 

I speak seriously to you, and tell you \hf- 

truth. 
I assure you of it. 
You have guessed it. 
You have hit upon it. 
I believe you. 
I must believe you. 
This is not impossible. 
Then it is very well. 
Well, well. 
It is not true. 
It IS false. 

There is nothing of this. 
It is a falsehood, an imposture. 
I was in joke. 
I. said it to laugh. 
Indeed. 

It pleases me much. 
I agree with you. 
I give my assent. 
I do not oppose this, 
I agree. 
I will not. 
I object to this. 

To consult, consider, or re3olv4 
What ought we to do ? 



92 



APPENDIX TO 



T( 5-a Ktiftiajiev ; 

Ti jJif avjxSov\E{)Tt va Kaiio) , 

OiTolov Too-Kov ^iXontv [xera^eipiffd^ fificis ; 

Af Ka^uifizv kr^ii 

Etvai Kd^irepov f/w va 

"ZraOr/TC dXiyov 

Afv ijQeXev ilvai Ka\iTC.pov va— 
'Eyw ayaiiovTa KaXhepa 
QeXitz Kufxei KoXiTcpa av— 
'A0»/ff£re ji£ 

*Av rijiovv ds rhv rdirov aai iyw • 

Kivai TO i^iov 



What shall we do ? 

What do you advise me to 

What part snail we take ? 

Let us do this. 

It is better that 1 — 

Wait a little. 

Would it not be better that— 

I wish it were better. 

You will do better if— 

Let me go. 

If I were in your place I — 

It is the same 



TTie reader by the specimens below will be enabled to compare the modem with the 

ancient tongue 



PARALLEL PASSAGES FROM ST. JOHN S GOSPEL. 



Nfov. 
Ke(pdX. d. 

1. EI2 TTlv ap'xfiv r/Tov h Xdyoj * Kal 6 A6~ 
yos tJTOv fiCTd Qeoij • Kal Qeos rjTov h Xdyoj . 

2. 'E.TOvTOi rjrov elg r/jv iipxnv ^etu Qtov. 

3. "OXa \tu Trpay/^ttTd] oia fiicrov tov 
[Xdyou] iyivriKav, Kat ^bopis ahrbv 6ev syivE 
Kaviva tin lyivt. 

4. Etf aiirov ^Tov ^oj?} • Kat ^ ^w^ ^rovri 

Awf TWV u.v9p(i)TT(i)V. 

5. Kai TO 0wf els rfjv (jKOTtlav feyya, 
Kat }} CKOTtia itv Tb KaToXaSe, 

6. "'Eiyivev 'ivag avOptairos airccTTaXjiivoi 
av:b TOV Qebv, Tb ovond tov ^luxivvrjs. 



AiOevTiKbv, 
Kt<f>d\. d. 

1. 'EN ap^xj) ?jv h X(}yof, Kai h Arfyo? ^ 
uphsTbv Qtbv, Ka\ Otof ^v h Xdyof. 

2. Ourof i^v iv up^0 TTOOf Tbv Qe6v. 

3. YidvTa SI alrov tyivsro ' Si ^wptff dv- 
Tov iytvero ohSi ev, o yiyovzv. 

4. 'Ev aiirw ^w^ ^v, Kal r\ ^w») ^v rb fSs 
Twv uvOpiairwv. 

5. Kat TO (pSig iv Tij oKOTiq. (paivu, Se ^ 
GKOTia aiirb oi KaTe\a6ev, 

6. 'E/fVETo av9p(i)Kog a-necTaXyLivog xapa 
Qcov, dvojia avTu) 'IwdvvT??, 



THE INSCRIPTIONS AT ORCHOMENUS, FROM MELETIUS. 



*0PX0MEN0^2, Koivwg 'ZKpiirov, Tl6\ig woti it'XovctojTdTT] Kal ic-xypuiTdTri , irp^Tcpov 




^ETravTiyopi^' 



aTtj'Xaii £vSov TOV KTiadcvTog NaoD iir^ dv6[iam Trjg QeoTdKov. tnrb tov UpuiToairaQapiov 
Afovrof . fTTt TTWV Bao-tXfwv BaaiXdov, A£OVTog,Kai Kwvaravrtror i^oiKTag cvroyg. 'Ek 



Ufv Tji ma Koivoyg. 



" QtSe ivtKU)v Tbv uywva tSv ^apinjfflcav. 

SaXTTtOT^J. 

Mflivis 'AffoXXwv^ou ^AvTiox^vs iirb MaidvSfMV. 

K>7pu|- 
ZwiXof ZwtXou Ila^toff. 

'Pa4'W(56f, 
JHovn^vios NoD/i>7i'tot) ^Adt]va7oSt 

UoiriTrjg iTribv. 
Afitivtas AriiiOK\(ovi OrjCatog, 

AhXrjTTis. 



CANTO THE SECOND. J-'S 

Air«XXd5oros ^AnoWoSSrov Kpr}j. 

Av\u)6bs. 
*f6SiiTiros 'PoShnuv ^Apyrjo;. 

Kidapiarris. 
^attas ^AnoWoSoTov tov ^aviov AJoXri)? iwi KiitttS 

Kidap(j}^bi. 
Arjfi^rpios Ylapixcvio Kov Ka\^ijS6vios' 

Tpay(x)66s. 
'iTtitOKpdrrjs ^ApicTOfjifvovs 'TdStos. 

KaWiarpaTOS 'K^nKtarov QriSatos, 

Y\oir]Trii 2ari< >u)V. 
^AfiTivlas ArjfxoKXiovi QTjSalos. 

YiroKpiT:nS- 
A(i)p6dcos A(jopo6iov TapavTivbs, 

Hotrj-rjs Tpayw^jwv. 
XofoKX/js "ZocpoKXfovs ^Adrjvaios, 

'YiTOKpiri^g. 
Ka6tpiy(^os Q£o6o)pov Qri6a7og. 

IIoir)Ti)g Kw/iwr^i/Sv. 
'AXt^av^^poy 'ApJarwi'oj 'Adrjvaios. 

'YTro/cptr/)j. 
'AttoXos ^AttuXov ^AOrjvalos. 
OiSe iviKiav rbv vrij.iriTov nyZva twv huoSudiV. 

UalSag avXrjcTug. 
AlOKXrjs KaX^iixf^ov Qrj6a7os. 

IInl()ag '^ycfidvas. 
Srparjvof Ew/koi 6?;6'«?of. 

"AvSpag \.v\y]Tag. 
AiokX^S KaWqi^Stv QrjSalos. 

"AvSpag ftyzm' us. 
^TdSnritoi 'ToStTrnov 'Ap, sios. 

TpaywSbg. 
'IvnoKpdrrjg ^Apiarofiivovs ^TSSios 

Kij}[jL'j)^bs. 
KaXXicTparos 'E^aKiffTOV 6r]6a7os. 

T(i (TtiviKia. 
KiOfjuoSiiov UoirjTrjs. 
'AXf|avJpoj 'AptoTtwvoj 'A0>?va7oj." 

'Ev Se Tji irep^ SwpiKSg. 

" Mvaalvix) ap^ovTog hywvoQtTiovTog rbv 
^apirelaiov, evapioarw -KavTwv 8f rvSe iviKu»rm»f tA 
^aptTelria. 

SaXTriy^cTfVf. 
^(Xivos ^lYivi) ^AOuvsi 



Kapou|. 
"ElpdiSai HojKpdriog QeiS&iOS. 

XloeiTus. 
Myjtrrwp Mijo-ropoj ^u)Kaievs. 

'Tiiil^asvSbs 



KpaTwv KXt'ci voj QeiScios 

AvX traj. 
HepiYevclg 'Up 'K^etSao Kc ii^iKrjvbi. 

Av\aiv^bs. 
Aafi^rtTos rXa{)K(i} "Apyioj. 

KiOapiGTui. 
^ajxaTpog Ajxa'Xwu) AioXevs airb MovptvetSm 

Tpayacv^bi. 
'AffKXaTTjd^wpoff Ilovdido Tapavrivbs. 

JSlKSarparos <l>(XocTrpara) QeiSstog. 
Ta i-rnviKtia Kui^aeySbg, 
"Rvapxos 'H-poSdro) KopwvctJc." 



94 APPENDIX TO 

'Ev aX\(fi Aido). 

" tAipi^os UoXvKpdravs 'lapwv^uoj Sioyiroyvog av^oeaci ^opaytiaavreg viKacavTCs Sititi^Kov 
i,vidT]Kav Tifi(jt)voi ap^^ovTO^ avXiovTOi K^iog ^SovTOi aX/cto-flivtoj." 

Ev hipu) Ai9(i). 

' &vvdp^(a ap^ovTog, fieivbg ^£i}'0v6i(i), ap^i . . . uis "EvSiJi^i ap^eSdfid) (pwKua .... 
OS,- diti&AKa a-nb raq aovyy pacpd ne^a twv ■no'Szndp)(jj)v k/? twv KaTottrdiiiV av£\6ntvo{ r^j 
tion)Yypa<pS)s Tai Kifiivag -nap eh<ppova, Kr)(pi6cav Krj ira cik\c7v, . . Krj ri^dficiSov fdiKtla^f 

^vdp^M ap)(ovTog, [itivbi aXa^Koneviu) F dpviov, noXiKX^ioi raixiag aneSwKe siifiwXu ap- 
^eSdiiO) (p<jiKcTi dirb Tag aovyypa(pS) rb KaraXiizov kut rb xpacpiapia tS> Sdjiu), avEXdjievos 
Tag Govyypacpibs rag Kinevag nap auxpiXov, Krj tixppova cpiOKiag, K»; -r-ap f.noviKTiov yrjpi]}- 
vfa, Krj XvGiSaiiov Sa[ioT{Xiogiri6a rciv iroXe^dp^Mv , *c>} rwv KaTO-rrrao)!/. 

'ApxovTog if ip^oixn'b SwdoYd), ficvbg 'AXaX/co^mw, £j' 5( F iXarir] MevoiTao "'Ap^EXdo) 
aeivbg TTpdru). '0[xoXoya EiJoajXii F iXarit), o kt] tt) ndXi ipyoueviwv, ^K~ti6rj KEKoinaTri 
'Ev6u)Xog Trap rtjg TidXtog rb 6dv£tov airav Karrdg hjioXoyiagrdg reOiaag ^vdn-^w ap)(ovTog, 
fitivbg ^eiXovQiu), k?i ovt dipetXirt] avru) en oiiOev Tritp rav noXiv. aXA' aTrf^nravTa -nspi 
itavrbg, Kri ?nro6£S6av6i rp irdXi to lyovTeg Tag bfxoXoyiag, el nfv -Kori SsSoiJfvov ^povov 
Kv6u)Xv iTTi vojjiiag F en arhTupa (iovcaai ac v 'h-nvg ^la KuriTjg Ft Kan TzpuSdTvg aovv 
^j'uf ■)(EiXir}g 'apj^l rw ■^pdvitt b iviavTogb ftCTa v<'ap-)^ov apyovTU ip')(Ofitvivg uiroypacpccrdr} 
Jf K'u6u)X'>v Knr^ fviavrbv CKaarov irdp rbv TayLiav ki) rbv vouuiv av Tare Kavj-taTa TuJv npo- 
SdT(t)v^ K)) Twv,T^yu>v, Kt) Twv fiovibv. Ki) TU>v (TTTTojv Kf\ KuTivu u.aajxaiij}v ^'iKri Tb TiXeWog net 
d-^oypdipcao ux^e irXiova Tiov yzypaji^ivuiv iv ttj aovy^wpdtxi rj StKUTig . . . r] rb (vvo^iov 

"EvSioXnv 6(p£iXzi Xig rwi' ip)(Ojxzv'n>)v dpyovpio) TtTrapaKOVTa Eu- 

6ij)Xv Kad^EKaoTOV (ViavTOV^Kri TOKOv (pcphui ^pn')(^Hdg rag jJivdg tKnaTug kutu 

ftetva rov k>) ejiKpaKTog ectw tov ip^ofxeviov Kai rd i^rjg." 



-, '> 



'Ev aXXois AtQoig. 

"^AvoSupa c6v(popni ')(^a7pE" NOKYES. "KaXXtnirov dfKpdpixog, Kai aXXai.^^ 'Ew 
•iiSe fil(f 'Eirtypajfrt l^iJV rdvov, v wv£y//a, a 5e ^fictg VTroYpd<poiitv , ol iraXaioi npocriypafov. 
Kat to. i^rjs. 



The following is the prospectus of a translation of A'lacharsis into Romaic, by my 
Romaic master, Marmai otouri, who wisher' to publish ' in England. 



EIAH'SIS TYnorPA^IKH*. 

lipbs Tovg iv (piKoyevtig Kal (piXfXXrjvai. 

'0201 ttg 0iS\la iravroSaird hTpv(pS(Tiv, ri^E{)oovv nSffov iivai Tb ;^p)7(n/iOV r^f 'Jaroplaf^ 
ii^ airijg ydo i^evpioKETat v nXfov fiEf^iaKpvnfilvri iraXatd-n??, Kal ^t'apovvrai wf fv Kardr- 
Tp.fi ijdil, vpditig Kal SioiK/jireig itoXXZv Kal Siatpdpwv 'E9vwv Kal PcrSv ujv T-qv fivfijiiiv iu* 
W(i>caT0 Kai Siaaoiirei fi 'laropiKi) AiiJYTjtrig els alSva rbv airaxTa. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 90 



TETOia 'E7riffr?7//»; ehai eiairdKTTjTog, Kai iv ravrw w^Atju?;, ^ KpeT? j* elireiv avay 
SiaTiXoMv fifxEis {xdvai vij rrjv varcpovixeda, [irj -j^eipovTes ovre fas up'^-g 'r<Lt 



Wfjofovuiv flag, TidQtv irdTS Kai tt&s evpedrjaav elg rag -Karp'dug fiag, ovre to. rjdt], rd Kurop- 
QibjxaTa Kai Tqv SiotKijaiv twv ; "Av fpwr;70-w/^£V Tovg 'AAAoytvEts, rj^eipovv vd fxdg Suaovv 
Srifidvov i(TTOpiK&g ri)v doxn'" '^aJ ''"'Ji' i^pooiuv t&v irpoydvwv [iug. uWd Kai roiroypa'^piK&g 
jxag ^d'xyovv rdg Qiceigrwv TlaTpi6^ov jjiag, Kai olovel ^£ipa}u)Yol yivoiiei'oiixe Tovg yem- 
yr>u(piKovg TtavWivaKag, flag 'kiyovv, ihC) elvai ai ^Adrjvai, iSH) f} "EndpTTi, eKel al QrjBai, 
Tdaa crrdSia ij fxiXia diri)(^ei J7 //j'a 'E7rap;^ta d:rd r^v aA>»7V. Tovrog (pKoSofiriac Trjv liiav 
TtoXiv, tKElvog Tqv dWtjy, Kai r|. Upoairi av ipo)Tri(TOJixev avTOvg Tovg [xrj EWrjvag ^ei- 
pay(oyo6g nag. iroOev inapaKivijdrjaav vd e^epevi'i^aovv up^dg roaov naXaidg, uvviroaToAwg 
ftng diroKphcvrai fxe avTovg Toiig Xdyovg. " KaOihg b Ik I.Kv6iag ^Avdxapaig, dv hlv iitt- 
pidpx^TO rd iravtvippoavva iKtiva KXijiara rrjs 'E\\d6og dv5iv ifxtpopiiTO rd u^iu>ixaTa, rd 
ridr, Kai Tovg NdfJiovg rdv 'K'SXijvwv, rjOeXe jxdvr) Y.KvQr]g Kai ibv ovofxa Kai to TTpdyfia • ovtm 
Kai h finirepog ^Jarpog, av 6iv iiJidvdave rd rov 'ImvoKparovg. Sh iSvvaro vd TTpox<"Pr/or) elg 
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•Jtriaiv TWV Eig TdgTiyvag Kai 'En-toTJywa? Kai £ig Kdds dXXo Eli^og //o6i;aa<sCji^''l'pffW'i;*N 



£Kn 

av^Tjaiv TWV £ig rdf Tf^vas Kai 'i^TTiuTfm 




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Atjp.riTpiog BEVifprjg. 
YlTTVpiSwv UpeBiTog. 
iLv Tpt£ffT/ci), Tp xpuJrjj ^OKTuBptoVf 1799. 



THE LORD'S PRAYER IN ROMAIC. 

ftllATE PA MAS b nov eIcui £tg TOvg ovpavovg, a? ayiacO?/ Tb Svofxd aoy. A? 'X_^ 
^ fiatxiX£(a(T0V. 'A? yvvrj to ^A>7//« (tov. KaOihg tig rbv ovpavbv. et(,v Kal^tlg Tfjv 'rjv. 
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9(> APPENDIX TO CANTO THE SECOND. 

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cli Toi's aiUvas. 'Aijltjv. 

IN GREEK. 

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'7aii fijiuv. Kai fir) elacvtY'^l}? ^H<ii £'J neipaafibv, aWa pvcai fjjiSs airb tov xovvoo9> 
'On aoZ iariv f] [iaaiXeia, Kai f/ ^uva/ztj, xai ^ 66^a, els tovs alUvag. 'An^, 



CHILDE HAROLD'S 
PILGRIMAGE. 

CANTO THE THIRD. 



" Afin que J^ette application vous format de penser h autre chose ; il n'y a «■ 
vferit^ de remd<.rt t/u« ncini-l^ et It; temps." — Lettre du Rot de Prtissed lyAlembgrt, 
Sept. 7, 1776 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



CANTO THE THIRD, 



I* 



Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child ! 
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart 1 
When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiicd. 
And then we parted, —not as now we part. 

But with a hope. — 

Awaking with a start, 
The waters heave around me ; and on high 
The winds lift up their voices : I depart, 
Whither I know not ; but the hour 's gone hy, ^ 

When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye 



II. 



Once more upon tne waters ! yet once more ! 
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 
That knows his rider. Welcome, to the roar I 
Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! 
Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed. 
And the rent canvass fluttering strew the gale 
Still must I on ; for I am as a weed. 
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to Rai\ 
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail 



100 CHiLDE Harold's "avto hi. 



Ill 



In my youth's summer I did sing of One, 
The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind ; 
Again I seize the theme then but begun, 
And bear it with me, as th<- "ushing wind 
Bears the cloud onwards : tn that Tale I find 
The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, 
Which, ebbing, leave a steril track behind. 
O'er which all heavily the journeying years 
Plod the last sands of life, — where not a flower appears 



IV. 

Since my young days of passion — joy, or pain, 
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string. 
And both may jar : it may be, that in vain 
I would essay as I have sung to sing. 
Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, 
So that it ween me from the weary dream 
Of selfish grief or gladness — so it fling 
Forgetfulness around me — it snail seem 
To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. 

V. 

He, who grown aged in this world of wot ^ 
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life. 
So that no wonder waits him ; nor below 
Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, strife. 
Cut to his heart again with the keen knife 
Of silent, sharp endurance : he can tell 
Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet r'-^** 
With airy images, and shapes which dwell 
Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted celi= 

VI. 

'Tis to create, and in creating live 
A being more intense, that we endow 
With form our fancy, gaining as we give 
The life we image, even as I do now. 
What am 1 1 Nothing : but not so art thou. 
Soul of my thought ! with whom I traverse earth. 
Invisible but gazing, as I glow 
' Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, 
And feehng still with thee in mv crush'd feelings' dearth 



CA.'NTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 10 1 

VII. 

Yet must I think less wildly : — I have thought 
Too long and darkly, till my brain became 
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, 
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame : 
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame. 
My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late ! 
Yet am I changed ; though still enough the same 
In strength to bear what time can not abate, 
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate. 

VIII, 

Something too much of this : — but now 'tis past, 
And the spell closes with its silent seal. 
Long absent Harold reappears at last ; 
He of the breast which fain no more would feel, 
Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but TiC'er heal .. 
Yet Time, who changes all, had alter'd him 
In soul and aspect as in age : years steal 
Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb ; 
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. 

IX. 

His had been quaff'd too quickly, and he found 
The dregs were wormwood ; but he filPd agair, 
And from a purer fount, on holier ground. 
And deem'd its spring perpetual ; but in vain ! 
Still round him clung invisibly a chain 
Which gall'd for ever, fettering though unseen, 
And heavy though it clank'd not ; worn with pam. 
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen. 
Entering with every step he took through many a scene. 

X. 

Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd 
Again in fancied safety with his kind. 
And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd 
And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind, 
That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind ; 
And he, as one, might midst the many stand 
Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find 
Fit speculation ; such as in strange land 
He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's hand, 

9* 



102 CHILDE Harold's canto k», 

XI. 

But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek 
To wear it ? who can curiously behold 
The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek, 
Nor feel the heart can never all grow old ? 
Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold 
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb 1 
Harold, once more within the vortex, roU'd 
On with the giddy circle, chasing Time, 
Yet with a nobler aim thcui in his youth's fond prime. 

XII. 

But soon he knew himself the most unfit 
Of men to herd with Man ; with whom he held 
Little in common ; untaught to submit 
His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell'd 
In youth by his own thoughts ; still uncompell'd, 
He would not yield dominion of his mind 
To spirits against whom his own rebell'd ; 
Proud though in desolation ; which could find 
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind. 



XIII. 

Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends 
Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home ; 
AVhere a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, 
He had the passion and the power to roam ; 
The deser*, forest, cavern, breaker's foam. 
Were unto him companionship ; they spake 
A mutual language, clearer than the tome 
Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake 
For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. 

XIV. 

Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars. 
Till he had peopled them with beings bright 
As their own beams ; and earth, and earth-born jars^ 
And human frailties, were forgotten quite : 
Could he have kept his spirit to that flight 
He had been happy ; but this clay will sink 
Tts spark immortal, envying it the light 
To which it mounts, as if to break the link 
That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink. 



CAN TO li. 



PILGRIMAGE. 103 



XV. 

But in Man's dwellings he became a thing 
Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, 
Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with dipt wing, 
To whom the boundless air alone were home : 
Then c«me his fit again, which to o'ercome. 
As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat 
His breast and beak against his wiry dome 
Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat 
Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat. 

XVI. 

Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, 
With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom ; 
The very knowledge that he lived in vain, 
That all was over on this side the tomb, 
Had made Despair a smilingness assume, 
Which, though 'twere wild, — as on the plunder'd wreck 
When mariners would madly meet their doom 
With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck, — 
Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forebore to check. 

XVII. 

Stop ! — For thy tread is on an Empire's dust! 
An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! 
Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? 
Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? 
None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, 
As the ground was before, thus let it be ; — 
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! 
And is this all the world has gain'd by thee. 
Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory t 

XVIII. 

And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, 
The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ; 
How in an hour the power which gave annuls 
Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too ! 
In " pride of place " (^) here last the eagle flew, 

(1) " Pride of place" is a terra of falconry, and means the highest pitd) Oi 
aight. — See Macbeth. &c. ** 

" An Eagle towering in his pride of jflace 

Was bv a mousing Owl hawked at aud killed." 



104 CHILDE HAROLD'S CANTO in 

Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, 
Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through 
Ambition's life and labours all were vain ; 
He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken chain. 



XIX. 

Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit 
And foam in fetters ; — but is Earth more free ? 
Did nations combat to make One submit ; 
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty 1 
What ! shall reviving Thraldom again be 
The patch'd-up idol of enhghten'd days ? 
Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we 
Pay the Wolf homage 1 proffering lowly gaze 
And servile knees to thrones 1 No ; prove before ye praise! 



XX. 

If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more ! 
In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears 
For Europe's flowers long rooted up before 
The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain years 
Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, 
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord 
Of roused-up millions : all that most endears 
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword 
Such as Harmodius (^) drew on Athens' tyrant lord. 



XXI. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake ao^airii 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; {^) 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knel. I 

(1) See the famous soncr on Harmodius and Aristogiton. — The best Engnsb 
translation is in Bland's Anihology, by Mr. Denman. 

" With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," &c. 
02) On the night previous to the action, it is said that a ball was given at Brusseu. 



CANTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 106 

XXII, 

Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 'twas but the wind. 
Or the car ratthng o'er the stony street ; 
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasuie meet 
To ch&.se the glowing Hours with flying feet — 
But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
A.rm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

XXIII. 

Within a window'd niche of that high hall 
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival, 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear : 
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near. 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier. 
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fightjing, fell. 



XXIV. 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to^d fro, 
And gathering tears, and trembjings of distress. 
And cheeks all pale, wlucji-btrt an hour ago 
Blush'd at the praise^ftheir own loveliness ; 
And there were scTdden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise 1 

XXV. 

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, 
O whispering, with white lips — "The f'^ e ! They 2ome 1 
they come I " 



lOfi CHILDE Harold's canto ik. 

XXVI. 

And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering " rose ! 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : — 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
Savao-e-and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountameers 
With the fierce native daring which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
And (^) Evan's, {^) Donald's fame rings in each clansman'i 
ears ! 



XXVII. 

And Ardennes (^) waves above them her green leaves, 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
'Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valour, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 



XXVIII. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay. 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 
The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 



(1,2) Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the" gentle Lochiel " of the 
•' forly-five." 

(3J The wood of Soisrnies is supposed to be a remnant of the " forest of Arden- 
nes, famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's " As you like 
it." Ii is also celebrated in Tacitus as being the spot of successful defence by the 
Germans against the Roman encroai;hments. — I have ventured te adooi the nanifl 
connected with nobler associations than those of m<"re slaughter. 



TANTO III. 



PILGRIMAGE. 



107 



XXIX. 

Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine, 
Yet one I would select from that proud throng, 
Partly because they blend me with his line, 
And partly that I did his sire some wrong, 
And partly that bright names will hallow song ; 
And his was of the bravest, and when shovver'd 
The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along. 
Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd. 
They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant 
Howard ! 



XXX. 

There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, 
And mine were nothing, had I such to give ; 
But when I stood beneaUi the fresh green tree. 
Which living waves where thou didst cease to li 
And saw around me the wide field revive 
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring 
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive. 
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, ^" 

I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. (') 






'* ^- 



%. "■■•■ :^' 






XXXI. 



I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each 

And one as all a ghastly gap did make 

In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach 

Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake ; 

The Archangel's trump, not Glory's, must awake 



(1) My guide from Mont St. Jean over the field seemed intelligent and accurate. 
The place where Major Howard fell was not far from two tall and solitary trees 
(there was a third cut down, or shivered in the battle) which stand a few yards 
from each other at a pathway's side. — Beneath these he died and was buried. 
The body has since been removed to England. A small hollow for the present 
marks where it lay, but will probably soon be effaced ; the plough has been upon it, 
and the grain is. 

After pointing out the different spots where Picton and other gallant men had 
Verished, the guide said, " Here Major Howard lay: I was near him when wonnd- 
ed." I told him my relationship, and he seemed then snll more anxious to point 
out the particular spot and circumstances. The place is one of the most markfd in 
the field from the peculiarity of the two trees above mentioned. < 

I went on horseback twice over the field, comparing it with my recollection of 
similar scenes. As a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for the scene of some 
great action, thouffh this may be mere imagination : I have viewed with attention 
those>3f Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Chajronea, and Marathon ; and the field 
around Mont St. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but a better cause, 
and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a 
celebrated spot, to vie in interest which any or all of these, except perhaps the last 
mentioned. 



l\jfi cHiLDE Harold's canto m. 

Those whom they thirst for ; though the sound of Fame 
May for a nioinent soothe, it cannot slake 
The fever of vain longing, and the name 
So honour'd but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. 



XXXII. 

They mourn, but smile at length ; and, smiling, mourn 

The tree will wither long before it fall ; 

The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn ; 

The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall 

In massy hoariness ; the ruin'd wall 

Stands when irs wind- worn batdements are gone ; 

The bars survive the captive they enthral ; 

The day drags through tho' storms keep out the sun 

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on : 



XXXIII. 

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass 
In every fragment multiplies ; and malces 
A thousand images of one that was, 
The same, and still the more, the more it breaks ; 
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, 
Livino^ in shatter'd ojuise, and still, and cold, 
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches, 
Yet withers on till all without is old, 
Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. 



XXXIV. 

There is a very life in our despair, 
Vitality of poison, — a quick root 
Which feeds these deadly branches ; for it were 
As nothing did we die ; but Life will suit 
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit. 
Like to the apples (^) on the Dead Sea's shore, 
All ashes to the taste : Did man compute 
Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er 
Such hours 'gainst years of life, — say, would he name three- 
score 1 



(1) The (fabled) apples on the brink of the lake Asphaltes were sa^d to be air 
without, and wiihin ashes. — Vide Tacitus, Histor. 1. 5, 7. 



CAMTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 101* 

XXXV. 

The Psalmist number'd out the years of man : 
They are enough ; and if thy tale be frwe, 
Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, 
More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! 
Millions of tongues record thee, and anew 
Their children's lips shall echo them, and say — 
" Here, where the sword united nations drew, 
" Our countrymen were warring on that day ! " 
And this is much, and all which will not pass away. 



XXXVI. 

There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, 
Whose spirit antithetically mixt 
One moment of the mightiest, and again 
On little objects with like firmness fixt, 
Extreme in all things ! hadst thou been betwixt, 
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been ; 
For daring made thy rise as fall : thou seek'st 
Even now to re-assume the imperial mien, 
And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene ! 



XX7<VII. 

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou ! 
She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name 
Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now 
That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame, 
Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became 
The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert 
A god unto thyself; nor less the same 
To the astounded kingdoms all inert, 
Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert. 



xxxvin. 
Oh, more or less than man — in high or low, 
Battling with nations, flying from the field ; 
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now 
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield ; 
An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, 
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor, 
However deeply in men's spirits skill'd, 
Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war. 
Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star. 

10 



110 CHILDE Harold's 



XXXIX. 



CANTO n« 



Yet we'l thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide 
With that untaught innate philosophy, 
Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, 
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. 
When the whole host of hatred stood hard by. 
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smi.e 
With a sedate and all-enduring eye ; — 
When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child. 
He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled. 



XL. 

Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them 
Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show 
That just habitual scorn, which could contemn 
Men and their thoughts ; 'twas wise to feel, not so 
To were it ever on thy lip and brow, 
And spurn the instruments thou wert to use 
Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow : 
'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ; 
So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose 



XLI. 

If, like a tower upon a headlong rock. 
Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone, 
Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shocks 
But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy throne. 
Their admiration thy best weapon shone ; 
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then 
(Unless aside thy purple had been thrown) 
Like stern Diogenes to mock at men ; 
For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. (') 

(1) The great error of Napoleon, " if we have writ our annals true," was a 
continued obtrusion on mankind of his want of ail community of feeling for or with 
them ; perhaps more offensive to human vanity than the active cruelty of more 
trembling and suspicious tyranny. 

Such were his speeches to public assemblies as well as individuals ; and the sin- 
gle expression which he is said to have used on returning to Pans after the Russian 
winter had destroyed his army, rubbing his hands over a fire, " This is pleasanter 
than Moscow," would probably alienate more favour from his cause than the dft- 
struction and reverses which led to the remark. 



CTAXTO lU. 



PILGRIMAGE. 1 1 1 



XLII. 

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell. 
And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire 
And motion of the soul which will not dwell 
In its own narrow being, but aspire 
Beyond the fitting medium of desire ; 
And, but once kindled, quenchless evermore. 
Preys upon high adventure, nor can tire 
Of aught but rest ; a fever at the core, 
Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore. 



XLIII. 

This makes the madmen who have made men mad 
By their contagion ; Conquerors and Kings, 
Founders of sects and systems, to whom add 
Sophists, Bards, Statesmen, all unquiet things 
Which stir too strongly the soul's secret springs, 
And are themselves the fools to those they fool ^ 
Envied, yet how unenviable ! what stings 
Are theirs ! One breast laid open were a school 
Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or nue '. 



XLIV. 

Their breath is agitation, and their life 
A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last, 
And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, 
That should their days, surviving perils past. 
Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast 
With sorrow and supineness, and so die ; 
Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste 
With its own flickering, or a sword laid by 
Which cats into itself, and rusts ingloriously 

XLV. 

He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find 
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow ; 
He who surpasses or subdues mankind, 
Must look down on the hate of those below. 
Though high above the sun of glory glow, 
And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
Roantl him are icy rocks, and loudly blow- 
Contending tempests on his naked head. 
And thus revi ard the toils which to those summits led. 



Hi CHILDE Harold's canto m 

XLVI. 

Away with these ! true Wisdom's world will be 
Within its own creation, or in thine, 
Maternal nature ! for who teems like thee, 
Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine 1 
There Harold gazes on a work divine, 
A blending of ail beauties ; streams and dells, 
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine 
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells 
From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. 



XLVII. 

And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind 
Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, 
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind. 
Or holdinsr dark communion with the cloud. 
There was a day when they were young and proud. 
Banners on high, and battles pass'd below ; 
But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, 
And those which waved are shredless dust ere now. 
And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow 



XLVIII. 

Beneath these battlements, within those walls, 
Power dwelt amidst her passions ; in proud state 
Each robber chief upheld his armed halls. 
Doing his evil will, nor less elate 
Than miditier heroes of a lono;er date. 
What want these outlaws (') conquerors should have? 
But History's purchased page to call them great « 
A wider space, an ornamented grave 1 
Their hopes were not less warm, their sculs were full as 
brave. 

XLIX. 

In their baronial feuds and single fields, 
What deeds of prowess unrecorded died ! 
And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields. 
With emblems well devised by amorous pride. 
Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide ; 

(1) " What wants that knave 

Tliat a king should have ? " 
was King James's question on meeting Johnny Armstrong and his followers m fiiO 
%ecoutrements. — See the Ballad. 



CAXroiir. PILGRIMAGE. 113 

But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on 
Keen contest and destruction near allied, 
And many a tower for some fair mischief won, 
Saw the discolour'd Rhine beneath its ruin run. 

I" 

But Thou, exulting and abounding river ! 
Making their waves a blessing as they flow 
Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever 
Could man but leave thy bright creation so, 
JVor its fair promise from the surface mow 
With the sharpe scythe of conflict, — then to see 
Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know 
Earth paved like Heaven ; and to seem such to me. 
Even now what wants thy stream 1 — that it should Lethe be. 

LI. 

A thousand battles have assaiPd thy banks. 
But these and half their fame have pass'd away. 
And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks ; 
Their very graves are gone, and what are they ? 
Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday. 
And all wa.« stainless, and on thy clear stream 
Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray ; 
But o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream 
Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem 

LII. 

Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along. 
Yet not insensibly to all which here 
Awoke the jocund birds to early song 
In glens which might have made even exile dear : 
Though on his brow were graven lines austere. 
And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place 
Of feelings fierier far but less severe, 
Joy was no* ab^ays absent from his face. 
But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient tra«^ 

LIII. 

Nor was all love shut from him, though his days 
Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. 
It is in vain that we would coldly gaze 
On such as smile upon us ; the heart must 
Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust 

10* 



I 14 CHILDE IIAUOI.d's CAUFC Ol 

Hath weanM it from all worldlings : thus he felt, 
For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust 
In one fond breast, to which his own would melt; 
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. 



LIV. 

And he had learn'd to love, — 1 know not why, 
Foi this in such as^ him seems strange of mood, — 
The helpless looks of blooming infancy. 
Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued, 
To cnange like this, a mind so far imbued 
With scorn of man, it little boots to know ; 
But thus it was ; and though in solitude 
Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, 
Tii him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow. 

LV. 

And there was one soft breast, as hath been said. 
Which unto his was bound by stronger ties 
Than the church links withal ; and, though unwed. 
That love was pure, and, far above disguise, 
Had stood the test of mortal enmities 
Still undivided, and cemented more 
By peril, dreaded most in temale eyes ; 
But this was firm, and from a foreian shore 
W ell to that heart might his these absent greetings pour 

1. 

The castled crag of Drachenfels (') 
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
Whose breast of waters broadly swells 
Between the banks which bear the vme. 
And hills all rich with blossom'd trees. 
And fields which promise corn and wine, 
And scatter'd cities crowning these. 
Whose far white walls along J;hem shine. 
Have strew'd a scene, which I should see 
With double joy wert thou with me. 

(1) The castle of Drachenfels stands on the highest summit of " the SevaT. 
Moimtains." over the Rhine banks: it is m ruins, and connected with some smgu- 
ar traditions : it is the first in view on the road from Bonn, but on the opposita 
side of the river; on tliis bank, nearly facing il, are the reinaius of another, calico 
the Jew's ra-itle, and a large cross commeniorative of the murder of a chief by hid 
brother; the number of castles and cities along the course of the Rhine on bcth 
sides is every great, and their situations remarkably beautiful. 



CAWTO VJ. PILGRIMAGE. I# 

2. 

And peasant girls, with deep blufi eyea. 
And hands which offer early floo'ers, 
Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; 
Above, the frequent feudal towers 
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray. 
And many a rock which steeply lowers, 
And noble arch in proud decay, . 
Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; 
But one thing want these banks of Pthine. - — 
Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine i 

I send the lilies given to me ; 
Though long before thy hand they touch, 
I know that they must wither'd be, 
But yet reject them not as such ; 
For 1 have cherish'd them as dear. 
Because they yet may meet thine eye. 
And guide thy soul to mine even here. 
When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, 
And know'st them gather'd I)y the Rhine, 
And offer'd from my heart to thine ! 

4. 
The river nobly foams and flows, 
The charm of this enchanted ground. 
And all its thousand turns disclose 
Some fresher" beauty varying round : 
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 
Through life to dwell delighted here ; 
Nor could one earth a spot be found 
To nature and to me so dear. 
Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! 

LVI. 

By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground. 
There is a small and simple pyramid. 
Crowning the summit of the verdant mound. 
Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid. 
Our enemy's — but let not that forbid 
Honour to Marceau ! o'er whose early tomb 
Tears, big tears, gush'd from the rough soldier's lid. 
Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, 
Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resumt 



116 CHiLDE Harold's canto nk 

LVIl. 

Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career, — 
His mourners were two iiosts, his friends and foes ; 
And fitly may the stranger lingering here 
Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose ; 
For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, 
The few in number, who had not o'erstept 
The cnarter to chastise which she bestows 
On such as wield her weapons ; he had kept 
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. {^) 



LVIII. 

Here Ehrenbreitstein, (^) with her shatter'd wall 
Black with the miner's blast upon her height 
Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball 
Rebounding idly on her strength did light : 
A tower of victory ! from whence the tiight 
Of balHed foes was watch'd along the plain : 
But Peace destroy'd what War could never blight. 
And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's ram — 
On which the iron shower for years had pour'd in vain. 



(1) The monument of the young and lamented General Marceau (killed by a 
rifle-ball at Alterkirchen, on the last day of the fourth year of the French republic) 
still remains as described. 

The inscriptions on his monument are rather too long, and not required : his name 
was enough; France adored, and her enemies adiniied ; both wept over him. — Hia 
funeral was attended by the generals and detaclmients from both armies. In the 
same grave General Hoche is interred, a gallant man in every sense of the word; 
but though he distinguished himself greatly m battle, he had not gained the good for- 
tune to die there : his death was attended by suspicions of poison. 

A separate monument (not over his body, which is buried by Marceau's) is raised 

for him near Andernach, opposite to which one of his most memorable exploits was 

performed, in throwing a bridge to an island on the Rhine. The shape and style 

are different from that of Marceau's, and the inscription more simple and pleasmg. 

" The Army of the Sambre and Meuse 

" to its Commander-in-chief 

" Hoche." 

This is all as it should be. Hoche was esteemed among the first of France's 
earlier generals before Buonaparte monopolized her triumphs. He was the destined 
commander of the invading army of Ireland. 

(2) Ehrenbreitstein, i. e. " the broad stone of Honour," one of the strongest fortress- 
es in Europe, was dismantled and blown up by the French at the truce of Leoben. — 
It had been and could only be, reduced by famine or treachery. It yielded to the for- 
mer, aided by surprise. After having seen the fortificaUons of Gibraltar and Malta, 
It did not much strike by comparison, but the situation is commanding. General 
Marceau besieged it in vain for some time, and I slept in a room where I was shown 
a wmuow at which he is said to have been standing observing the progress of ihd 
siege by moonlight, when a ball struck immediately below it. 



r*»«TOIll. PILGRIMAGE. 117 

LIX. 

Adieu to thee, fair Rhine ! How long delighted 
The stranger fain would linger on his way ! 
Thine is a scene alike where souls united 
Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray ; 
And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey 
On self-condemning bosoms, it were here. 
Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay 
Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere, 
Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year. 

LX. 

Adieu to thee again ! a vain adieu ! 
There can be no farewell to scene like thine ; 
The mind is colour'd by thy every hue ; 
And if reluctantly the eyes resign 
Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine ! 
'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise ; 
More nightly spots may rise — more glaring shine. 
But none unite in one attaching maze 
The brilliant, fair, and soft, — the glories of old days, 

LXI. 

The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom 
Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen, 
The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom. 
The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between, 
The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been 
In mockery of man's art; and these withal 
A race of faces happy as the scene 
Whose fertile bounties here extend to all. 
Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near tr.em tail. 

LXII. 

But these recede. Above me are the Alps, 
The palaces of Nature*, whose vast walls 
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps. 
And throned Eternity in icy halls 
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls 
The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! 
All that expands the spirit, yet appals. 
Gather around these summits, as to show 
How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below. 



118 CHiLDE Harold's canto m 

LXIII. 

But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan, 
There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain, — 
Morat ! the proud, the patriot lield ! where man 
May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, 
Nor blush lor those who conquer'd on that plain ; 
Here Burgundy bequeathed his tonibless host, 
A bony heap, through ages to remain, 
Themselves their monument ; — the Stygian coast 
Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wandering 
ghost, n 



LXIV. 

While Waterloo with Cannce's carnage vies, 
Morat and ^Marathon twin names shall stand ; 
They were true Glory's stainless victories. 
Won by the unambitious heart and hand 
Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band. 
All unbought champions in no princely cause 
Of vice-entail'd Corruption ; they no land 
Doom'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws 
Making kmgs' rights divine, by some Draconic clause. 



LXV. 

By a lone wall a lonelier column rears 
A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days ; 
'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years, 
And looks as with the wild-bewilder'd gaze 
Of one to stone converted by amaze. 
Yet still with consciousness ; and there it stands 
Malr'ng a marvel that it not decays. 
When the coeval pride of human hands, 
liBvell'd Aventicum, (*) hath strew'd her subject lands. 

(l)The chapel is destroyed, and the pyramid of bones diminished to a small number 
by the Burirundian hgion in the service of France, who anxiously effaced this record 
of their ancestors' less successful invasions. A few still remain, notwithstanding tha 
pains taken, by tne Burgimdians for ages, (all who passed that way removing a bone 
to their own country.) and the less justifiable larcenies of the Swiss postilions, who 
carried them otVto sell for knife-handles, a purpose for which the whiteness imbibed 
by the bleaching of years had rendered them in great request. Of these relics 1 
ventured to bring away as much as may have made a quarter of a hero, for which tha 
sole e.\cuse is, that if I had not, the next passer by might have perverted them to worse 
uses than the careful preservation which I intend for them. 

(2) Aventicum /near INIorat) was the Roman capital of Helvetia, where Aveiicnei 
now stands. 



UWTO III. PILGRIMAGE. 119 

LXVI. 

And there — oh ! sweet and sacred be the name ! — 
Julia — the daughter, the devoted — gave 
Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim 
Neares-t to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave. 
Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crave 
The life she lived in ; but the judge was just, 
And then she died on him she could not save. 
Their tomb was simple, and without a bust. 
And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one dust. (^) 

LXVII. 

But these are deeds which should not pass away, 
And names that must not wither, though the earth 
Forgets her empires with a just decay. 
The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and birth ; 
The high, the mountain-majesty of worth 
Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe, 

And from its immortality look forth -^ -. - ; _ 

In the sun's face, hke yonder Alpine snow, (^) J^^T^ixl^-^ ^''^^S. 
Imperishably pure beyond all things below. /^^ ^^' 

Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face. 
The mirror where the stars and mountains vie^ 
The stillness of their aspect in each trace 
Its clear depth yields of their fair height and hue : 
There is too much of man here, to look through 
With a fit mind the might which 1 behold ; 
But soon in me shall loneliness renew 
Thoughts hid, but not less cherished than of old, 
Ere mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their fold. 

1| Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian priestess, died soon after a vain enaeavoiir t/i 
Bave her father, condemned to death as a traitor by Aulus Caecina. Her epitaph w%i 
diBCirered many years ago ; — it is thus : — 

Julia Alpinula 

Hicjaceo 

Infelicis patris,irifelix proles 

Deae Aventiaj Sacerdos; 

Exorare patris necem non potui 

Male niori in fatis ille erat. 

Vixi annosxxTii. 

I know of no human composition so affecting as this, nor a history of deeper interest. 

These are the names and actions which ought not to [terish, ar;d to which we turn with 

a true and healthy tenderness, from the wretched and glittering detail of a confusea 

mass of conquests and battles, with which the mind is roused for a time to a false and 

feverish sympathy, from whence it lecurs at length with all the nausea consequent on 

such intoxication. 

(2) This is written in the eye of Mont Blanc, (June Sd 1816,) which even at tn:s 
•jfistance dazzles mine. 



120 CHILDE Harold's 



CANTO HX 



LXIX. 

To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind i 
AH are not fit with them to stir and toil, 
Nor is it discontent to keep the mind 
Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil 
In the hot throng, where we become the spoil 
Of our infection, till too late and long 
We may deplore and struggle with the coil, 
In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong 
Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong. 

LXX. 

There, in a moment, we may plunge our years 
In fatal penitence, and in the blight 
Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears, 
And colour things to come with hues of Night ; 
The race of hfe becomes a hopeless flight 
To those that walk in darkness : on the sea, 
The boldest steer but where their ports invite. 
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity 
Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be 

LXXI. 

Is it not better, then, to be alone. 
And love Earth only for its earthly sake ? 
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, (*) 
Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake. 
Which feeds it as a mother who doth make 
A fair but froward infant her own care. 
Kissing its cries away as these awake ; — 
Is it not better thus our lives to wear. 
Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or bear? 

LXXII. 

I live not in myself, but I become 
Portion of that around me : and to me 
High mountains are a feehng, but the hum 
Of human cities torture : I can see 
Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be 
A link reluctant in a fleshly chain, 
Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee 
And with the sky, the peak, the hea^ *ng plam 
Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. 

(July 20111.) I this day observed for some time the distinct reflection of Mom tJlanc 
and Mont Argentifere in the calm of the lake, which I was crossing in my boat; thfl 
distance of these mountains from their mirror is 60 miles. 

(1) The colour of the Rhone at Geneva, is blue, to a depth of tint whicJi I have nevei 
t"r«n equalled in water, salt or fresh, except in the Mediterranean and Archipelago. 



OANro III. PILGRIMAGE, 121 

LXXIII. 

And thus I am absorb'd, and this is hfe ; 
I look upon the peopled desert past, 
As on a place of agony and strife, 
Where, for some sin, to Sorrow I was cast, 
To act and suffer, but remount at last 
With a fresh pinion ; which I feel to spring, 
Though young, yet waxing vigorous, as the blast 
Which it would cope with, on dehghted wing. 
Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being cling. 

LXXIV. 

And when, at length, the mind shall be all free 
From what it hates in this degraded form, 
Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be 
Existent happier in the fly and worm, — 
When elements to elements conform, 
And dust is as it should be, shall I not 
Feel all I see, less dazzling, but more warm ? 
The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot 1 
Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot ? 



LXXV. 

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part 
Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? 
Is not the love of these deep in my heart 
With a pure passion 1 should I not contemn 
All objects, if compared with these ? and stem 
A tide of suffering, rather than forego 
Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 
Of those whose eyes are only turn'd below, 
Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow ? 



LXXVI. 

But this is not my theme ; and I return 
To that which is immediate, and require 
Those who find contemplation in the urn. 
To look on One, whose dust was once all fire, 
A native of the land where I respire 
The clear air for a while — a passing guest. 
Where he became a being, — whose desire 
Was to be glorious ; 'twas a foolish quest. 
The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest 

11 



122 * CHiLDE Harold's 



CAKTO ni 



LXXVII. 

Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, 
The apostle of affliction, he who threw 
Enchantment over passion, and from woe 
Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew 
The breath which made him wretched ; yet he knew 
How to make madness beautiful, and cast 
O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue 
Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they past 
The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast 

LXXVIII. 

His love was passion's essence — as a tree 
On fire by lightning ; with ethereal flame 
Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be 
Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same. 
But his was not the love of hving dame, 
Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, 
But of ideal beauty, which became 
In him existence, and o'erflowing teems 
Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems. 

LXXIX. 

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this 
Invested her with all that's wild and sweet ; 
This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss 
^Vhich every morn his fever'd lip would greet. 
From hers, who but with friendship his would meet. 
But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast 
Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat ; 
In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest. 
Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. ( ) 

LXXX. 

His life was one long war with self-sought foes, 
Or friends by him self-banish'd ; for his mind 
Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose. 
For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind 
'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. 
But he was phrensied, — wherefore, who may know ? 
Since cause might be which skill could never find ; 
But he was phrensied by disease or woe, 
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. 

^l)This refers to tlie account in his " Confessions " of his passion for the Comtesse 
d Houdetot, (the mistress of St. Lambert.) and his long walk every morning for the 
sakeof tlie single kiss which was the common salutation of French acquaintance. — 
Rosseau's description of his feelings on this occasicn may be considered as the mosi 



CANTO 111. PILGRIMAGE. ' 123 

LXXXI. 

For then he was inspired, and from him came, 
As from the Pythian's mystic cave of yore, 
Those oracles which set the world in flame, 
Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more : 
Did he not this for France ? which lay before 
Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years 1 
Broken and trembhng to the yoke she bore, 
Till by the voice of him and his compeers 
Roused up to too much wrath, which follows o'ergrown fears ? 

LXXXII. 

They made themselves a fearful monument ! 
The wreck of old opinions — things which grew, 
Breathed from the birth of time : the veil they rent, 
And what behind it lay all earth shall view. 
But good with ill they also overthrew, 
Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild 
Upon the same foundation, and renew 
Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour re-filPd, 
As heretofore, because ambition was self-will'd. 

LXXXIII. 

But this will not endure, nor be endured ! 
Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. 
They might have used it better, but, allured 
By their new vigour, sternly have they dealt 
On one another ; pity ceased to melt 
With her once natural charities. But they. 
Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt, 
They were not eagles, nourish'd with the day ; 
What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey ? 

LXXXIV. 

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? 
The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear 
That which disfigures it ; and they who war 
With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd bear 
Silence, but not submission : in his lair 
Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour 
Which shall atone for years ; none need despair : 
It came, it cometh, and will come, — the power 
To punish or forgive — in one we shall be slower. 

passionate, yet not impure, description and expression of love that ever kindled into 
words ; which, after all, must be fell, from their veiy force, to be inadequate to J.^c ie''- 
■e&don — a painting can give no sufficient idea of the ocean. 



£24 CHiLDE Harold's canto m 

LXXXV. 

' Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, 

With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 

Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 

Earth's troubled waters lor a purer spring. 

This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 

To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 

Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 

Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, 
That I with stern delights should e'er have been so mo\'ed. 

LXXXVI. 

It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen. 
Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously steep ; and drawing near. 
There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar. 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more ; 



LXXXVIl. 

He is an evening reveller, who makes 
His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill. 
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
All silently their tears of love instil. 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 

LXXXVIII. 

Te stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! 
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate 
Of men and empires, — 'tis to be forgiven, 
That in our aspirations to be great. 
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state. 
And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are 
A beauty and a mystery, and create 
In us such love and r'^verence from afar. 
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a sta?. 



CANTO m. 



PILGRIMAGE. 125 



LXXXIX. 

All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — 
All heaven and earth are still : From the high host 
Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast 
All is concenter'd in a life intense, 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 
Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 



xc. 

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
In solitude, where we are least alone ; 
A truth, which through our being then doth melt 
And purifies from self : it is a tone, 
The soul and source of music, which makes known 
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, 
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone. 
Binding all things with beauty ; — 'twould disarm 
The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. 

xci. 
Not vamly did the early Persian make 
His altar the high places ard the peak 
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains (^), and thus take 
A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek 
The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, 
Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare 
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, 
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air. 
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'r ! 

(1) It is to be recollected, that the most beautiful and impressive doctrines of the 
divine Founder of Christianity were delivered, not in the Temple, but on the Mount. 

To wave the question of devotion, and turn to human eloquence, — the most cfft-ctual 
and splendid specimens were not pronounced within walls. Demosthenes addressed 
the p«blic and popular assemblies. Cicero spoke in the forum. Thai this addnd to 
their effect on the mind of both orator and hearers, maybe conceived from the differ- 
ence between what we read of the emotions 'then and there produced, and tliose we 
ourselves experience in the perusal in the closet. It is one thing to read the Iliad at 
Sigaium ana on the tumuli, or by the springs with Mount Ida above, and the plain and 
rivers and Archipelago around you ; and another to trim your taper over it in a snug 
library — this I know. 

Were the early and rapid progress of what is called Methodism to be attributed to 
any cause beyond the enthusiasm excited by its vehement faith and dictrines (the truth 
or error of which I presume neither to canvass nor to question) I should venture to as- 
scribe it to the practice of preaching in the fields, and the unstudied and extemporane- 
ous effusions of its teachers. W^ 



126 CHILDE Harold's canto m. 

XCII. 

Thy sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, (^) 
And stoim, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along. 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 

XCIII. 

And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! 
Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth. 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 

xciv. 

Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between 
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted 
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, 
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted ! 
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted. 
Love was the very root of the fond rage 
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed : 
Itself expired, but leaving them an age 
Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage. 

The Mussulmans, whose erroneous devotion (at least in the lower orders) is mos* 
sincere and therefore impressive, are accustomed to repeat their prescribed orisons and 
prayers wherever they may be, at the stated hours — of course frequently in the open 
air kneeling upon a light mat, (which they carry for the purpose of a bed or cushion as 
requirid :) the ceremony lasts some minutes, during which they are totally absorbed, and 
only livinsin their supplication : nothing can disturb them. On me the simple and en- 
tire sincerity of these men, and the spirit which appeared to be within and upon them, 
made a far greater impression than any general rite which was ever performed in places 
of worship, of which I have seen those of almost every persuasion under the sun ; in- 
cluding most of o^vn sectaries, and the Greek, the Catliolic, the Armenian, the Lulhe- 
i-an, the Je^vish, and the Mahometan. Many of the negroes, of whom there are num- 
bers m the Turkish empire, are idolaters, and have free exercise, of their belief and its 
rites • some of these I had a distant view of at Patras, and from what I could make out 
of them, they appeared to be of a truly Pagan description, and not very agreeable to a 
spectator. 

(l)The thunder-storm to which these lines refer occurred on the 13th of June, 1816 
at midnight. I have seen, among the Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari, severalmore 
temble, but none more beautiful. 



CANTO m. PILGRIMAGE. 127 

XCV. 

Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way 
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : 
For here, not one, but many, make their play, 
And fling their thunder-bohs from hand to hand. 
Flashing and cast around : of all the band, 
The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd 
His lightnings, — as if he did understand, 
That in such gaps as desolation work'd. 
There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd. 



xcvi. 
Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye ! 
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
To make these felt and feelina", well may be 
Things that have made me watchful ; the far roll 
Of your departing voices, is the knoll 
Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ? 
Are ye like those within the human breast 1 
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest 1 



XCV], 

Could I embody and unbosom now 
That which is most within me, — could I wreak 
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, 
All that I would have sought, and all I seek. 
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into 07ie word, 
And that one word were Lightning, I would speak ; 
But as it is, I live and die unheard. 
With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. 



XCVIII. 

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, 
With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom. 
Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, 
And living as if earth contain'd no tomb, — 
And glowing into day : we may resume 
The march of our existence : and thus I, 
Still on thy shores, fair Leman ! may find room 
And food for meditation, nor pass by 
Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly. , 



12S CHILDE HAROLli JAMTO lli. 

XCIX. 

Clarens ! sweet Clarens, biitliplace of deep Love, 
Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought ; 
Thy trees take root in Love ; the snows above 
The very Glaciers have his colours caught, 
and sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought (^) 
By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks, 
The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought 
In them a refuge from the worldly shocks. 
Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then mocks* 

(1) Rousseau's Heloise,Lettre 17, part 4, note. " Ces montagnes sont si nautes 
qu'une derru-heure apres le soleil couche, leurs somraets sont encore eclaires de ses 
rayons ; dont le rouge forme sur ces cimes blanches une belle couleur de rose, qu'on 
apper9oit de fort loin." 

This applies more particularly to the heights over Meillerie. 

" J'allai a Vevay loger a la Clef, et pendant deux jours que j'y restai sans voir 
personne, je pris pour cette ville un amour qui m'a suivi dans tous mes voyages, et 
qui m'y a fait etablir enfin les heros de mon ronian. Je dirois volontiers a ceux qui 
ont du gout et qui sont sensibles : alez a Vevay — visitez le pays, exaniinez les sites, 
promenez-vous sur le lac, et dites si la Nature n'a pas fait ce beau pays pour une 
Julie, pour une Claire, et pour un St. Preux; mais ne les y cherchez pas." Les 
Confessions, livre iv. page 306, Lyons ed. 1796. 

In July, 1816, I ma^ie a voyage round the Lake of Geneva; and, as far as my 
own observations have led me in a not uninterested nor inattentive survey of all the 
scenes most celebrated by Rousseau in his •■ Heloise," I can safely say, that in this 
there is no exaggeration. It w^ould be ditficult to see Clarens, (with the scenes 
around it, Vevay, Chillon, B6veret,i3t. Gingo, Meillerie, Eivan, and tlie entrances 
of the Rhone,) without being forcibly siruck with its peculiar adaptation to the per- 
sons and events with which it has been peopled. But this is not all : the feeling 
with which all around Clarens, and the opposite rocks of Meillerie, is invested, is of 
a still higher and more comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individual 
passion fit is a sense of the existence of love in its most extended and sublime ca- 
pacity, and of our own participation of its good and of its glory : it is the great prin- 
ciple of the universe, which is there more condensed, but not less manifested ; and 
of which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose our individuality, and mingle in 
the beauty of the whole. 

If Rousseau had never written, nor lived, the same associations would not less 
have belonged to such scenes. He has added to the interest of his works by their 
adoption ; he has shown his sense of their beauty by the selection ; but they have 
done that for him which no human bemg could do for them. 

I had the fortune (good or evil as it might be) to sad from Meillerie (where we 
landed for some time) to St. Gingo during a lake storm, which added to the magnifi- 
cence of all around, althoug+i occasionally accompanied by danger to the boat, which 
W9s -mall and overloaded. It was over this very part of the lake that Rousjeau has 
ariven the boat of St. Preux and Madame Wolmar to Meillerie for shelter during & 
tempest. . 

On cainins the shore at St. Gingo, I foan'^ that the wind had been sufficiently 
stronc''to blow down some fine old chestnut-trees oh the lower pait of the moun- 

>^ains. J • . • 

On the opposite height of Clarens is a chateau. The hilis are covered with vine- 
yards, and interspersed with some small but beautiful woods; one of these was 
named the " Bosquet de Julie ;" and it is remarkable that, though long ago cut down 
by the brutal selfishness of the monks of St. Bernard, (to whom the land appertain- 
ed,) tha* the ground might be enclosed into a vineyard for the miserable drones of an 
execrable superstition, the inhabitants of Clarens still point out the spot where its 
trees stood, calling it by the name which consecrated and suivived them, 

Rousseau has not been particularly fortunate in the preservation of the " local 
habitations" he has given to " airy nothings." The Prior of Great St. Bernard has 
cut down some of his woods for the sake of a few casks of wine, and Buonaparte hai 



CAt«TO III. 



PILGRIMAGE. 129 



C. 

Clareus ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, — 
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne 
To which the steps are mountains ; where the god 
Is a pervading Hie and hght, — so shown 
Not on those summits solely, nor alone 
In the still cave and forest ; o'er the flower 
His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, 
His soft and summer breath, whose tender power 
Passes the strength of storms m their most desolate hour 

CI. 

All things are here of him ; from the black pines, 
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines 
Which slope his green path downward to the shore, 
Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore. 
Kissing his feet with murmurs ; and the wood, 
The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar. 
But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood 
Offering to him, and nis, a populous solitude. 

oil. 
A populous solitude of bees and birds, 
And fairy-form'd and many colour'd things. 
Who worship him with notes more sweet than words. 
And innocently open their glad wings, 
Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs, 
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend 
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, 
Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. 

cm. 

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, 
And make his heart a spirit ; he who knows 
That tender mystery, will love the more. 
For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes. 
And the world's waste, have driven him far from those, 
For 'tis his nature to advance or die ; 
He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie 
With the immortal lights, in its eternity ! 

levelled part of the rocks of Meillerie in improving the road to 'he Simplon, The 
road is an excellent one, but I cannot quite agree with a remark which i heard niaae 
<hat " La route vaut mieux que les souvenirs." 



1?0 CHILDE Harold's cjmtoui, 

CIV. 

'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spcit, 
PeopHng it with affections ; but he found 
It was the scene which passion must allot 
To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground 
Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound, 
And hallow'd it with loveliness : 'tis lone, 
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, 
And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone 
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a throne. 

cv. 

Lausanne ! and Ferney ! ye have been the abodes Q) 
Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name ; 
Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, 
A path to perpetuity of fame : 
They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim 
Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile 
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame 
Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while 
On man and man's research could deign do more than smile 

cvi. 

The one was fire and fickleness, a child, 
Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, 
A wit as various, — gay, grave, sage, or wild, — 
Historian, bard, philosopher, combined ; 
He multiplied himself among mankind. 
The Proteus of their talents : But his own 
Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as the wind, 
Blew where it listed, laying all things pre me, — 
Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. 

CVII. 

The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought. 
And hiving ^visdom with each studious year. 
In medtiation dwelt, with learning wrought. 
And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, 
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer ; 
The lord of irony, — that master-spell, 
Which stung his foes to wi-ath, which grew from fear, 
And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell, 
Which answer to all doubts so eloquently well. 

(1) Voltaire and Gibbon. 



CANTO IIL 



PILGRIMAGE. 



131 



CVIII. 

Yet, peace be with their ashes, — for by them, 
If merited, the penalty is paid ; 
It is not ours to judge, — far less condemn ; 
The hour must come when such things shall be ir.ade 
Known unto all, — or hope and dread allay'd 
By slumber, on one- pillow, ^- in the dust, 
Which, thus much we are sure, must he decay'd ; 
And when it shall revive, as is our trust, 
'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. 

cix. 

But let me quit man's works, again to read 
His Maker's, spread around me, and suspeuti 
This page, which from my reveries I feed, 
Until it seems prolonging without end. 
The clouds above me to the white Alps lend, 
And I must pierce them, and survey whaie'er 
May be permitted, as my steps I bend 
To their most great and growing region, wneie 
The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air* 




ex. 



Itaha ! too, Italia ! looking on thee. 
Full flashes on the soul the light of ages. 
Since the fierce Carthaginian almost won liiee. 
To the last halo of the chiefs and sages 
Who glorify thy consecrated pages ; 
Thou wert the throne and grave of empires ; dtiil 
The fount at which the panting mind assuages 
Here thirst of knowledge, quaffing there her fill, 
Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial hill. 



CXI. 



Thus far have T proceeded in a theme 
Renew'd with no kind auspices : — to feel 
We are not what we have been, and to deem 
We are not what we should be, — and to steel 
The heart against itself ; and to conceal. 
With a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught, — 
Passion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal, — 
Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought, 
Is a stern task of soul : — No matter, — it is taught. 



132 CHILDE Harold's. canto m 

CXII. 

And for these words, thus woven into song, 
It may be that they are a harmless mle, — 
The colouring of the scenes which fleet along, 
AVhich I would seize, in passing, to beguile 
My breast, or that of others, for a while. 
Fame is the thirst of youth, — but I am not 
So young as to regard men's frown or smile, 
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot ; 
I stood and stand alone, — remember'd or forgot. 

CXIII. 

I have not loved the world, nor the world me : 
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bowM 
To its idolatries a patient knee, — 
Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles, — nor cried aloi^d 
In worship of an echo ; in the crowd 
They could not deem me one of such ; I stood 
Among them, but not of them ; in a shrouo 
Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could, 
Had I not filed {^) my mind, which thus itself subdued. 

CXIV. 

I have not loved the world, nor the world me, — 
But let us part fair foes ; I do believe 
Though I have found them not, that there iiid^ be 
Words which are things, — hopes which will not deceive. 
And virtues which are merciful, nor weave 
Snares for the failing : I would also deem 
O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve ; {^) 
That two, or one, are almost what they seem, — 
That goodness is no name, and happiness no dioam. 

cxv. 

My daughter ! with thy name this song begun — 
Mv daughter ! with thy name thus much shall end — 
I see thee not, — I hear thee not, — but none 
Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend 
To whom the shadows of far years extend : 
Albeit my brow thou never should'st behold, 
My voice shall with thy future visions blend, 
And reach into thy heart, — when mine is coM,- 
A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould. 

(1) «' If it be thus, 
For Banquo's issue have IJiled my miril '' 

Macbeth. 

(2) It is saidby Rochefoucault, that " there is oZwjays something in the misforluiie^ 
ff] men's best friends not displeasing to thera " ^ 



CANTO III. 



PILGRIMAGE. 133 



CXVI. 

To aid thy mind's developement, — to watch 
Thy dawn of Httle joys, — to sit and see 
Ahnost thy very growth, — to view thee catch 
Knowledge of objects, — wonders yet to thee ! 
To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, 
And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss, — 
This, it should seem, was not reserved for me • 
Yet this was in my nature : — as it is, 
I know not what is there, yet something like to this. 

CXVII. 

Yet, though dull hate as duty should be taught, 
I know that thou wilt love me ; though my name 
Should be shut from thee, as a soell still fraught 
With desolation, — and a broken claim : 
Though the grave closed between vs. '""'sre ♦ne samCt 
I know that thou wilt love me ; though i^ »./am 
J\Iy blood from out thy being, were an ami, 
And an attainment, — all would be in vain, -- 
Still thou would'st love me, still that more than life retain. 

CXVIII. 

The child of love, — though born in bitterness, 
And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire 
These ,vere the elements, — and thi >vi no less. 
As yet such are around thee, — but thy lire 
Shall be more temper'd, and thy hone fa*- b''T;her. 
Sweet be thy cradled slum'ov?rs ! O'ei t'ue sea, 
And from the mountains where I now lespire, 
Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee, 
As, with a &igb, I deem thou might'st have been to roe I 



12 



€HILDE HAROLD'S 
PILGRIMAGE. 

CANTO THE FOURTH. 



Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna. 

Gtuel Monte che divide, o qud cr.e sjr. \ 
Italia, e un mare e 1' alti-o, che 'a ba^« 

jlnoato, Saturat 



TO 

JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. A.M. F.R.S 



My dear Hobhouse, 

After an interval of eight years between the composition 
of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the conclusion ol 
the poem is about to be submitted to the public. In parting with 
so old a friend, it is not extraordinary that I should recur to one 
still older and better, — to one who has beheld the birth and death 
of the other, and to whom I am far more indebted for the social ad- 
vantages of an enlightened friendship, than — though not ungrate- 
ful — I can, or could be, to Childe Harold, for any public favour 
reflected through the poem on the poet, — to one, whom I have 
known long, and accompanied far, whom I have found wakeful 
over my sickness and kind in my sorrow, glad in my prosperity 
and firm in my adversity, true in counsel and trusty in peril — 
to a friend often tried and never found wanting ; — to yourself. 

In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth ; and in dedicating to 
you in its complete, or at least concluded state, a poetical work 
which is the longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of 
my compositions, I wish to do honour to myself by the record of 
many years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of steadi- 
ness, and of honour. It is not for minds like ours to give or tc 
receive flattery ; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been per- 
mitted to the voice of friendship ; and it is not for you, nor even 
for others, but to relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or late- 
ly, been so much accustomed to the encounter of good- will as to 
withstand the shock firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate 
your good qualities, or rather the advantages which I have derived 
from their exertion. Even the recurrence of the date of this let- 
ter, the anniversary of the most unfortunate day of my past exist- 
ence, but which cannot poison my future while I retain the re- 
source of your friendship, and of my own faculties, will henceforth 
have a more agreeable recollection for both, inasmuch as it wifl 

12* 



138 DEDICATION. 

remind us of this my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable 
regard, such as few men have experienced, and no one could 
experience, without thinking better of his species and of himseh^. 

It has been our fortune to traverse together, at various periods, 
the countries of chivahy, history, and fable — Spain, Greece, 
Asia Minor, and Italy ; and what Athens and Constantinople 
were to us a few years ago, Venice and Rome have been more 
recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have accom- 
panied me from first to last ; and perhaps it may be a pardonable 
vanity which induces me to reflect with complacency on a com- 
position which in some degree connects me with the spot where 
it was produced, and the objects it would fain describe ; and how- 
ever unworthy it may be deemed of those magical and memorable 
abodes, however short it may fall of our distant conceptions an3 
immediate impressions, yet as a mark of respect for what is vener- 
able, and of feeling for what is glorious, it has been to me a 
source of pleasure in the production, and I part with it with a 
kind of regret, which I hardly suspected that events could have 
left me for imaginary objects. 

With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be found 
less of the pilgi-im than in any of the preceding, and that little 
slightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his own 
person. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawing a line 
which every one seemed determined not to perceive : like the 
Chinese in Goldsmith's " Citizen of the World," whom nobody 
would believe to be a Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted, ana 
imagined that I had drawn, a distinction between the author and 
the pilgrim ; and the very anxiety to preserve this difference, and 
disappointment at finding it unavailing, so far crushed my efforts 
in the composition, that I determined to abandon it altogether — 
and have done so. The opinions which have been, or may be, 
formed on that subject, are noiv a matter of indifference ; the 
work is to depend on itself, and not on the writer ; and the author, 
whs has no resources in his own mind beyond the reputation, 
transient or permanent, which is to arise from his literary efforts, 
deserves the fate of authors. 

In the course of the following canto it was my intention, either 
in the text or in the notes, to have touched upon the present state 
of Italian literature, and perhaps of manners. But the text, within 
the limits I proposed, I soon found hardly sufficient for the laby- 
rinth of external objects, and the consequent reflections ; and for 
the whole of the notes, excepting a few of the shortest, I am in- 
debted to yourself, and these were necessarily limited to the 
elucidation of the text. 

It is also a delicate, and no very grateful task, to dissert upon 
the literature and manners of a nation so dissimilar ; and requires 



DEDICATION. 189 

art dttentiov md impartiality which would induce us — though 
perLfecps no itiattentive observers, nor ignorant of the language or 
cusi&^*in of the people amongst whom we have recently abode — 
to distitrst, or at least defer our judgment, and more narrowly 
examine our information. The state of literary, as well as poli- 
tical party, appears to run, or to have run, so high, that for a 
stranger to steer impartially between them is next to impossible. 
It may be enough, then, at least for my purpose, to quote from 
their o^^n beautiful language — " Mi pare che in un paese tutto 
poetico, che vanta la lingua la piii nobile ed insieme !a piii dolce, 
tutte tutte la vie diverse si possono tentare, e che sinche la patria 
di Alfieri e di Monti iion ha perduto V antico valo^e, in tutte essa 
dovrebbe essere la prima." Italy has great names still — Ca- 
nova, Monti, Ugo Foscolo, Pindemonte, Viscoiiti, Morelli 
Cicognara, Albrizzi, Mezzophanti, Mai, Mustoxidi, Aglietti, and 
Vacca, will secure to the present generation an honourable place 
in most of the departments of Art, Science, and Belles Lettres ; 
and in some the very highest ; — Europe — the World — has but 
one Canova. 

It has been somewhere said by Alfieri, that " La pianta uomo 
nasce piu robusta in Italia che in qualunque altra terra — e che 
gli stessi atroci delitti che vi si commettono ne sono una prova." 
Without subscribing to the latter part of his proposition, a danger- 
ous doctrine, the truth of which may be disputed on better 
grounds, namely, that the Italians are in no respect more fero- 
cious than their neighbours, that man must be wilfully blind, or 
ignorantly heedless, who is not struck with the extraordinary 
capacity of this people, or, if such a word be admissible, their 
capabilities, the facility of their acquisitions, the rapidity of their 
conceptions, the fire of their genius, their sense of beauty, and, 
amidst all the disadvantages of repeated revolutions, the desola- 
tion of battles, and the despair of ages, their still unquenched 
" longing after immortality," — the immortality of independence 
And when we ourselves, in riding round the walls of Rome, heard 
the simple lament of the labourers' chorus, " Roma ! Roma ! 
Roma ! Roma non e piii come era prima," it was difl^icult not tc. 
contrast this melancholy dirge with the bacchanal roar of the song 
of exultation srill yelled from the London taverns, over the carnage 
of Mont St. Jean, and the betrayal of Genoa, of Italy, of France, 
and of the world, by men whose conduct you yourself have ex- 
posed in a work worthy of the better days of our history. Ftr 
me, — 

" Non movero mai corda 
Ove la turba di sue ciance assorda." 

What Italy has gained by the late transfer of nations, it were 
useless for Enghshmen tt enquire, till it becomes ascertained 



140 DEDICATION. 

that England has acquired something more than a permaneM 
army and a suspended Habeas Corpus ; it is enough fo-r them to 
look at home. For what they have done abroad, and especially 
in the South, " Verily they ivill have their reward," and at no 
very distant period. 

Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and agreeable return 
to that country whose real welfai'e can be dearer to none than to 
y^ourself, I dedicate to you this poem in its completed state ; and 
repea' once more how truly I am ever. 

Your obliged 

And affectionate friend, 
BYRON. 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 



I. 
I STOOD in Venice, on the Bridge of sighs ; (*) 
A palace and a prison on each hand : 
I saw from out the wave her structures rise 
As from the strc kc of the enchanter's wand : 
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand 
Around me, and a dying glory smiles 
O'er the fa. ..nies, when many a subject land 
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, 
Where Venice aate in state, throned on her hundred isles ! 

II. 
She looks a sea-Cybele, fresh from ocean, (") 
Rising with her tiara of proud towers 
At airy distance, with majestic motion, 
A ruler of the waters and their powers : 
And such she was ; — her daughters had their dowers 
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 
Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
In purole was she robed, and of her feast 
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. 

III. 
In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, (^) 
And silent rows the songless gondolier ; 
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, 
And music meets not always now the ear : 
Those days are gone — but beauty still is here. 
States fall, a^rts fade — but Nature doth not die : 
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, 
The pleasant place of all festivity, 
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy ! 

(1) See " Historical Notes" at the end of this Canto, No. I. 

(2) An old writer, describinc; the appearance of Venice, has made use of the aft^'ve 
image, which would not be poetical were it not true. _ 

^Quojitut qui :ni.perne tirhem contempletur , turritam telluris imagmem medio Oce- 
ano Jiguratam se putet inspicere."* 

(3) See " Historical Notes " at the end of this Canto, No. II. 

* Marci AntoniiSabellideVenetsellrbis situ narratio, edit. Taurin. 1527, lib. ifoLSO*. 



142 CHiLDE Harold's 

IV. 

But unto us she hath a spell beyond 
Her name in story, and her long array 
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despon«3 
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway ; 
Ours is a trophy which will not decay 
With the Rialto ; Shylock and the Moor, 
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away — 
The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er 
For us repeopled were the solitary shore. 



V, 

The beings of the mind are not of clay ; 
Essentially immortal, they create 
And multiply in us a brighter ray 
And more beloved existence ; that which flitp 
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state 
Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied 
First exiles, then replaces what we hate ; 
Watering the heart whose early flowers have died. 
And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 



VI. 

Such is the refuge of our youth and age, 
The first from Hope, the last from Vacancy ; 
And this worn feeling peoples many a page, 
And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye t 
Yet there are things whose strong reality 
Outshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues 
More beautiful than our fantastic sky. 
And the strange constellations which the Muse 
O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse : 



VII. 

I saw or dream'd of such, — but let them go — 
They came hke truth, and disappear'd like dreams 
And whatsoe'er they were — are now but so : 
I could replace them if I would ; still teems ; 
My mind with many a form which aptly seems 
Such as I sought for, and at moments found ; 
Let these too go — for waking Reason deems 
Such over-weening phantasies unsound, 
And other voices speak, and other sighs surround. 



GATPfO I» 



CA^IffO IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. 143 



VIII. 

I've taught me other tongues — and in strange eyes 
Have made me not a stranger ; to the mind 
Which is itself, no changes bring surprise ; 
Nor is it uaish to make, nor hard to find 
A country with — ay, or without mankind ; 
Yet was I born where men are proud to be, 
Not without cause ; and should I leave behind 
The inviolate islands of the sage and free, 
And seek me out a home by a remoter sea, 



IX. 



Perhaps I loved it well ; and should I lay 
My ashes in a soil which is not mine, 
My spirit shall resume it — if we may 
Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine 
My hopes of being remember'd in my line 
With my land's language : if too fond and far 
These aspirations in their scope incline, — 
If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, 
Of hasty growth and blight, and dull ObUvion bar 

X. 

My name from out the temple where the dea<^ 
Are honour'd by the nations — let it be — 
And light the laurels on a loftier head ! 
And be the Spartan's epitaph on me — 
" Sparta hath many a worthier son than he.' ' (*) 
Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; 
The thoriiS which I have reap'd are of tne tree 
I planted, — they have torn me, — and 1 bieea : 
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. 

XI. 

The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord ; 
And, annual marriage, now no more renew'd, 
The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored. 
Neglected garment of her widowhood ! 
St. ^f ark yet sees his lion where he stood, (') 
Stand, but in mockery of his wither'd power. 
Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued. 
And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour 
When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower. 

(1) The answer of the mother of Brasidas to the strangers who prused tn# memory 
«f her son 

(2) See " Historical Notes," No, III. 



144 CHiLDE Harold's c Nroir. 

XII. 

The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — | | 
An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; 
Kin<,rdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains 
Clank over sceptred cities ; nations melt 
From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt 
The sunshine lor a while, and downward go 
Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's belt ; 
Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo ! {^) 
Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. 

XIII. 

Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, 
Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; 
But is not Doria's menace come to pass ? (') 
Are they not bridled ? — Venice, lost and won, 
Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done. 
Sinks, like a sea-w ed, into whence she rose! 
Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, 
Even in aesiruction's depth, her foreign foes, 
From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. 

XIV. 

In youth she was all glory, — a new Tyre, — 
Her very bv-word sprung from victory. 
The " Planter of the Lion," {*) which through fire 
And blood she bore o'er subject earth and. sea ; 
Though making many slaves, herself still free, 
And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottoniite ; 
Witness Trov's rival, Candia ! Touch it, ye 
Immortal m aves that saw Lepanto's fight ! 
For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight 

XV. 

Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the long file 
Of her dead Poges are declined to dust ; 
But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile 
Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ; 
Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust. 
Have yielded to the stranger : empty halls. 
Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must 
Too oft remind her who and what enthrals, (^) 
Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. 

(1,2, 3,5) See " Historical Notes." Nos. IV. V. VI. VI F. 
(4; Plant the Lion — that is. the Lion of St. Mark the standard of the lepub.^j 
%^ch is the origin of the worii Pantaloon — Piantaleone, Pantdeon, Pantaloon. 



f.iirro^xv. PILGRIMAGE. 14A 

XVI. 

When Athens' armies fell a't Syracuse, 
And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war. 
Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse, (^) 
Her voice their only ramsom from afar : 
See ! as they chant the traojic hymn, the car 
Of the o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins 
Fall from his hands — his idle scimitar 
Starts from its belt — he rends his captive's cnains. 
And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strain! < 

XVII. 

Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, 
Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot. 
Thy choral memory of the Bard divine, 
Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot 
Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot 
Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, 
Albion ! to thee : the Ocean queen should no< 
Abandon Ocean's children ; in the fall 
Of Venice think of thme, despite thy watery waii 

XVIII. 

I loved her from my boyhood — she to me 
Was as a fairy city of the heart, 
Rising like water-columns from the sea. 
Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the marl ; 
And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare^s 'drl,\'; 
Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, 
Although I found her thus, we did not part, 
Perchance even dearer in her day of woe. 
Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a snow. 

XIX. 

I can repeople with the past — and of 
The present there is still for eye and thought. 
And meditation chasten'd down, enough ; 
And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought ; 
And of the happiest moments which were wrought 
Within the web of my existence, some 
From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught : 
I. There are some feelings Time cannot benumb. 
Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. 

(1) The story is told in Plutarch's life, of Nicias. 

(2) Venice Preserved ; Mysteries of Udolpho ; the Ghost-Seer, or Armenian jm 
Merchant of Venice ; Othello. 

13 



146 CHiLDE Harold's tuatam 

XX. 

But from the^r nature will the tannen grow (*) 
Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks, 
Rooted in barrenness, \vhere nought below 
Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks 
Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks 
The howling tempest, till its height and trame 
Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks 
Of bleak, gray granite into life it came, 
And grew a giant tree ; — the mind may grow the same, 

XXI. 

Existence may be borne, and the deep root 
Of life and sufferance make its firm abode 
In bare and desolated bosoms .•• mute 
The camel labours Mith the heaviest load. 
And the wolf dies in silence, — not bestow'd 
In vain should such example be ; if they, 
Things of ignoble or of savage mood. 
Endure gnd shrink not, we of nobler clay 
May temper it to bear, — it is but for a day. 

XXII. 

All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd. 
Even by the sufferer ; and, in each event. 
Ends : — Some, with hope replenish'd and ret)uoy*d, 
Rf *-^rr« +0 whence they came — with like intent. 
And weave their web again ; some, bow'd and bent. 
Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time. 
And perish with the reed on which they leant ; 
Some «pek devotion, toil, war, good or crime, 
According as their souls were form'd to sink or climb : 

XXTII. 

But ever and anon of griefs subdued 
There comes a token hke a scorpion's sting. 
Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; 
And slight withal may be the things which bring 
Back on the heart the weight which it would lling 
Aside for ever : it may be a sound — 
A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — 
A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, 
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound ; 

^1) Tannen is the plural o^tanne, a species of fir peculiar to the Alps, whicn omy 
tlinves in very rocky parts, where scarcely soil sufficient for its nourishment can b« 
found On these spots it grows to a greater height than any other mountain tree 



SAKTO IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. 147 



XXIV. 

And how and why we know not, nor can trace 
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, 
But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface 
The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, 
Which out of things famiUar, undesign'd. 
When least we deem of such, calls up to view 
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind. 
The cold — the changed — perchance the dead — ane 
The mourn'd, the loved, the lost — too many ! — y«^ how lew i 

XXV. 

But my soul wanders ; I demand it back 
To meditate amongst decay, and stand 
A ruin amidst ruins ; there to track 
Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land 
Which was the mightiest in its old command, 
And is the loveliest, and must ever be 
The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, 
Wherein were cast the heroic and the free. 
The beautiful, the brave — the lords of earth and sea. 



XXVI. 

The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome . 
And even since, and now, fair Italy ! 
Thou art the garden of the world, the home 
Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; 
Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? 
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste 
More rich than other climes' fertility ; 
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced 
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced. 



XXVII. 

The moon is up, and yet it is not night — 
Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea 
Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
Of blue Friuli's mountains ; Heaven is free 
From clouds, but of all colours seems to bts 
Melted to one vast Iris of the Wesl, 
Where the Day joins the past Eternity ; 
W^hile, on the other hand, meek Dian's cresl 
Floats through the U'Liie uir -- ia iaUnd of the blest I 



143 CBiLJ>£ HABlXt% BAatoiT. 

XXVIII. 

A single star is at her side, and reigns 
With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but sail (*) 
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains 
RoU'd o'er the peak of the far Rhsetian hill, 
As Day and Night contending were, until 
Nature reclaim'd her order ; — gently flows 
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instill 
The odorous purple of a new-born rose. 
Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd widiin it glowi, 

XXIX. 

Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar ; 
Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, 
From the rich sunset to the rising star. 
Their magical variety diffuse : 
And now they change ; a paler shadow strews 
Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day 
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 
With a new colour as it gasps away. 
The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray. 

XXX. 

There is a tomb in Arqua ; — rear'd in air, 
Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose 
The bones of Laura's lover : here repair 
Many familiar with his well-sung woes, 
The pilgrims of his genius. He arose 
To raise a language, and his land reclaim 
From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes : 
W^atering the tree which bears his lady's name (') 
With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. 

XXXI. 

They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died ; (') 
The mountain-village where his latter days 
Went down the vale of years ; and 'tis their pride —« 
An honest pride — and let it be their praise, 
To offer to the passing stranger's gaze 
His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plain 
And venerably simple, such as raise 
A feeling more accordant with his strain 
Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane. 

(1) The above description may seem fantastical or exaggerated to those who 
have never seen an Oriental or an Italian sky, yet it is but a lieral and hardly suffi- 
cient delineation of an August evening (the eighteenth) as contemplated in on« o( 
many rides along the banks of the Brenta near La Mira. 

(2, 3) See • Historical Notes,** Nos. VIII. and IX. 



CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 149 

XXXII. 

And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt 
Is one of that complexion which seems made 
For those who their mortality have felt, 
And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd 
In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade, 
Which shows a distant prospect far away 
Of busy cities, now in vain display'd. 
For they can lure no further ; and the ray 
Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday, 

XXXIII. 

Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, 
And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, 
Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours 
With a calm languor, which, though to the eye 
Idlesse it seem, hath its morality. 
If from society we learn to live, 
'Tis solitude should teach us how to die ; 
It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give 
No hollow aid ; alone — man with his God must strive : 

XXXIV. 

Or, it may be, with demons, who impair (^) 
The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey 
In melancholy bosoms, such as were 
Of moody texture from their earliest day. 
And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay, 
Deeming themselves .predestined to a doom 
Which is not of the pangs that pass away ; 
Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb, 
The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom. 

XXXV. 

Ferrara ! in thy wide and grass-grown streets, 
Whose symmetry was not for solitude. 
There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats 
Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood 
Of Este, which for many an age made good 
Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore 
Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood 
Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore 
The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn before. 

(I) The struggle is to the full as likely to be with demons as with our bettor 
thoughts. Satan chose the wilderness for the temptation of our Saviour. And our 
uDsullied John Locke preferred the presence of a child to complete solitade. 

13* 



150 CHILDE Harold's canto i*. 

XXXVI. 

And Tasso is their glory and their shame. 
Hark to his strain ! and then survey his cell ! 
And see how dearly earn'd Torquato's fame, 
And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell : 
The miserable despot could not quell 
The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend 
With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell 
Where he had plunged it. Glory without end 
Scatter'd the clouds away — and on that name attend 

XXXVII. 

The tears and praises of all time ; while thine 
Would rot in its obUvion — in the sink 
Of worthless dust, which from thy boasted line 
Is shaken into nothing ; but the link 
Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think 
Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn — 
Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink 
From thee ! if in another station born, 
Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad'st to mourn : 

XXXVIII. 

Thou! form'd to eat, and be despised, and die, 
Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou 
Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty : 
He ! with a glory round his furrow'd brow, 
Which emanated then, and dazzles now. 
In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire, 
And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow (') 
No strain which shamed his country's creaking lyre, 
That whetstone of the teeth — monotony in wire I 

XXXIX. 

Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! ' twas his 
In life and death to be the mark where Wrong 
Aim'd with her poison'd arrows, but to miss. 
Oh, victor unsurpass'd in modern song ! 
Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long 
The tide of generations shall roll on. 
And not the whole combined and countless throng 
Compose a mind like thine 1 though all ir. one 
Condensed their scatter'd rays, they would not form a sun. 

(1) See '« Historical Notei," at the end of this canto, No. X. 



tAMTO IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. 161 



XL. 

Great as thou art, yet parallel'd by those, 
Thy countrymen, before thee bom to .shine, 
The Bards fjf Hell and Chivalry ; first rose 
The Tuscan father's comedy divine ; 
Then not unequal to the Florentine, 
The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd forth 
A new creation with his rnagic line, 
And, like the Ariosto of the North, 
Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly worth 

XL I. 

The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust (') 
The iron crown of laurel's mimic'd leaves ; 
Nor was the ominous element unjust, 
For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves (') 
Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves. 
And the false semblance biit disgraced his brow ; 
Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves, 
Know, that the lightning sanctifies below (') 
Whate'er it strikes ; — yon head is doubly sacred now. 

XLII. 

Italia ! oh Italia ! thou who hast (*) 
The fatal n'lh of beauty, which became 
A funeral dower of present woes and past. 
On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame. 
And annals graved in characters of flame. 
Oh, God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness 
Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim 
Thy riiiht, and awe the robbers back, who press 
To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress ; 

XLIII. 

Then might'st thou more appal ; or, less desired. 
Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored 
For thy destructive charms ; then, still untired, 
Would not be seen the armed torrents pourd 
Down the deep Alps ; nor would the hostile horde 
Of many-nation'd spoilers from the Po 
Quaff* blood and water ; nor the stranger's sword 
Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, 
Victor or vanquish'd, thou the slave of friend or foe. 

(1, 2. 3) See •' Historical Notes," at the end of this canto, Nos. XI. XII. XIIL 
(4) The two stanzas, XLII. XT.III.. are, whh the exception of a line or twt a 
translation of the famous sonnet of Filicaja : 

•'* Italia. Italia, O tu cui feo la »orte V* 



162 CHiLDE Harold's ^anto it 



XLIV. 

Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him, (*) 
The Roman friend of Rome's least mortal-mind, 
The friend of TuUy : as my bai k did skim 
The briijht blue waters with a fanning wind, 
Came iVIegara before me, and behind 
-J^gina lay, Pirteus on the right, 
And Corinth on the left ; 1 lay reclined 
Along the prow, and saw all these unite 
In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight ; 

XLV. 

For Time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd 
Barbaric dwellings on their shatter'd site. 
Which only make more mourn'd and more endear'd 
The few last rays of their far-scatter'd light, 
And the crush'd relics of their vanish'd might. 
The Roman saw these tombs in his own age. 
These sepulchres of cities, which excite, 
Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page 
The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. 

XLVI. 

That page is now before me, and on mine 
His country's ruin added to the mass 
Of perish'd states he mourn'd in their decline. 
And I in desolation : all that ivas 
Of then destruction is ; and now, alas ! 
Rome — Rome imperial, bows her to the storm. 
In the same dust and blackness, and we pass 
The skeleton of her Titanic form, (-) 
Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. 

(1) The celebrated letter of Servius Sulpicius to Cicero on the death of his -augh* 
ter, describes as it then was, and now is. a path which I often traced in Greece, both 
by sea and land, in different journeys and voyaa^es. 

" On niv return from Asia, as I was sailing from jE^ina towards Megara, I begai 
to contemplate the prospect of the countries around me : ^i;iiia was behmd Megara 
before me ; Piraeus on the right, Corinth on the left ; all which towns, once famous 
and flourshing, now lie overturned and buried in their ruins. Upon this sight, 1 coula 
not but think presently within myself, Alas ! how do we poor mortals fret and vex 
ourselves if any of our friends happen to die or be killed, whose life is yet so short, 
when the carcasses of so many noble cities lie here exposed before me in one view." — 
Dr. Middleton — History of the Life of M. Tullius Cicero, sect. vii. p. 371. vo', ii. 

(2) It is Poggio, who, looking from the Capitoline hill upon ruined Rome, breaks 
forth into the exclamation, " Ut nunc omni decore nudata, prostrata jacet, instar 
gigantei cadavoiis corrupti atque undique exesi. — De fortunae varietate urbis Rome, 
•t de ruinis ejusdem descrintioj ap. Sallengre, Thesaur. torn. i. p. 601. 



:SANTO IT. 



PILGRIMAGE. 163 



XLVII. 

Yet, Italy ! through every other land 
Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side ; 
Mother of Arts ! as once of arms ; thy hand 
Was then our guardian, and is still our guide ; 
Parent of our Religion ! whom the wide 
Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven ! 
Europe, repentant of her parricide, 
Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven, 
Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. 

XLVIII. 

But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 
Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps 
A softer feeling for her fairy halls. 
Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps 
Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps 
To laughing life, with her redundant horn. 
Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps 
Was modern Luxury of Commerce born, 
And buried Learning rose, redeem'd to a new morn. 

XLIX. • 

There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills (') 
The air around with beauty ; we inhale 
The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils 
Part of its immortality ; the veil 
Of heaven is half undrawn ; within the pale 
We stand, and in that form and face behold 
What mind can make, when Nature's self would fail ; 
And to the fond idolaters of old 
Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould : 

L. 

We gaze and turn away, and know not where, 
Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart 
Reels with its fulness ; there — for ever there — 
Chain'd to the chariot of triumphal Art, 
We stand as captives, and would not depart. 
Away ! — there need no words, nor terms precise, 
The paltry jargon of the marble mart. 
Where Pedantry gulls Folly — we have eyes : 
Blood — pulse — and breast, confirm the Dardan Shepherd's 
prize. 

(1) See " Historical Notes," at the end of this canto, No. XIV» 



154 CHILDE Harold's canto w. 



LI. 



Appear'dst thou not to Paris in this guise ? 
Or to more deeply blest Anchises 1 or, 
In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies 
Before thee thy own vanquish'd Lord of War 1 
And gazing in thy face as toward a star, 
Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn. 
Feeding on thy sweet cheek ! (') while thy lips are 
With lava kisses melting while ihey burn, 
Shower'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an urn : 

LII. 

GloAving, and circumfused in speechless love, 
Their full divinity inadequate 
That feeling to express, or to improve. 
The gods become as mortals, and man's fate 
Has moments like their brightest ; but the weight 
Of earth recoils upon us ; — let it go ! 
We can recall such visions, and create. 
From what has been, or might be, things which grow 
Into thy statue's form, and look like gods below. 

LIII. 

I leave to learned fingers, and wise hands. 
The artist and his ape, to teach and tell 
How well his connoisseurship understands 
The graceful bend, and the voluptuous swell : 
Let these describe the undescribable : 
I would not their vile breath should crisp the stream 
\Mierein that image shall for ever dwell ; 
The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream 
That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. 

LIV. 

In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie (') 
Ashes which make it holier, dust which is 
Even in itself an immortality. 
Though there were nothing save the past, and this 
The particle of those sublimities 
Which have relapsed to chaos : — here repose 
Angelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his, (^) 
The starry Galileo, with his woes ; 
Here MachiavelU's earth return'd to whence it rose. {*) 

(1) 'O09aX//oi)f IffTiav 

" Atque ociilos pascal uterque suos." — Ovid. Amor lib. u. 
(2. 8, 4) See " Historical Notes," at the end of this canto, Nos. XV. XVL 
XVII. 



CAKTO 17 



PILGRIMAGE. 



55 



LV. 



These are four minds, which, hke the elements, 
Might furnish forth creation : — Italy ! 
Time, which hath wrong'd thee with ten thousand rents 
Of thine imperial garment, «hall deny, 
And hath denied, to every other sky, 
Spirits which soar from ruin : — thy decay 
Is still impregnate with divinity, 
"Which gilds it with revivifying ray ; 
Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day .> 



LVI. 



But where repose the all Etruscan three — 
Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, 
The Bard of Prose, creative spirit ! he 
Of the Hundred Tales of love ■ — where did they lay 
Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay 
In death as life 1 Are they resolved to dust. 
And have their country's marbles nought to say 1 
Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust ? 
Did they not to her breast their filial earth intrust? 



LVII. 

Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar, (^) 
Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ; {^) 
Thy factions, in their worse than civil war. 
Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore 
Their children's children would in vain adore 
"With the remorse of ages ; and the crown (^) 
Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, 
Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, 
His jife, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not thine own. 




LVIII* 



Boccaccio to his parent enrth bequeath'd (*) 
His dust, — and lies it not her Great among. 
With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed 
O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue ? 
That music in itself, whose sounds are song, 
The poetry of speech ? No ; — even his tomb 
Uptorn, must bear the hyaena bigot's wrong, 
No more amidst the meaner dead find room. 
Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom ! 



(1 . 2, 3, 4) See " Historical Notes," at the end of this canto, Nos XVIIL 
XIX. XX. and XXI. 



f56 CHILDE HAROLD'8 canto i. 

nx. 

And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust ; 
Yet for this want more noted, as of yore 
The Caesar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, 
Did but of Rome's best Son remind her more ; 
Happier Ravenna ! on thy hoary shore, 
Fortress of falHng empire ! honour'd sleeps 
The immortal exile ; — Arqua, too, her store 
Of tuneful reUcs proudly claims and keeps. 
While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and weeps. 

LX. 

What is her pyramid of precious stones'? (^) 
Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues 
Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones 
Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dews 
Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse 
Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead, 
Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse, 
Are gently prest with far more reverent tread 
Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. 

LXI. 

There be more things to greet the heart and eyes 
In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine. 
Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies ; 
There be more marvels yet — but not for mine ; 
For I have been accustom'd to entwine 
My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, 
Than Art in galleries : though a work divine 
Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields 
Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields 

LXII. • 

Is of another temper, and I roam 

By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles 

Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home ; 
^ For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles 

Come back before me, as his skill br-^uiles 

The host between the mountains and the shore, 

Where Courage falls in her despairing files, 

And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore. 
Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd o*er. 

(n See " Historical Notes." at the end of this Canto, No. XXII. 



CAWTO IT. PILGRIMAGE. 157 

LXIII. 

Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds ; 
And such the storm of battle on this day, 
And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds 
To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, 
An earthquake reel'd unheededly away ! (^) 
None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, 
And yawning forth a grave for those who lay 
Upon iheir bucklers for a winding sheet ; 
Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet ! 

LXIV. 

The Earth to them was as a rolling bark 
Which bore them to Eternity ; they saw 
The Ocean round, but had no time to mark 
The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, 
In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe 
Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds 
Plunge in the clouds for refuge and withdraw 
From their down-toppling nests ; and bellowing herds 
Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no words 

LXV. 

Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; 
Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 
Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain 
Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta'en — 
A little rill of scanty stream and bed — 
A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain ; 
And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead 
Made the earth wet, and turn'd the unwilling waters red. 

LXVI. 

But thou, Clitumnus ! in thy sweetest wave {^) 
Of the most living crystal that was e'er 
The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave 
Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear 
Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer 
Grazes ; the purest god of gentle waters ! 
And most serene of aspect, and most clear ; 
Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters — - 
A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! 

(1) See " Historical Notes," at the end of this Canto, No. XXII I. 

(2) No book of travels has omitted to expatiate on the temple of the Chtumnus 
uetween Foligno and Spoleto ; and no site, or scenery, even m Italy, is more worth) 
a description. For an account of the dilapidation of this temple, the reader is i efer- 
red to " Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold," p. 35. 

14 



'^^ CHILDE Harold's caktoit 



LXVII. 

And on thy happy shore a Temple still, 
Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, 
Upon a mild declivity of hill, 
Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps 
Thy current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps 
The finny darter with the glittering scales, 
^Mio dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; 
While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails 
Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales. 



LXVIII. 

Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! 
If through the air a zephyr more serene 
Win to the brow, 'tis his ; and if ye trace 
Along his margin a more eloquent green. 
If on the heart the freshness of the scene 
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust 
Of weary life a moment lave it clean 
With Nature's baptism, — 'tis to him ye must 
Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. 



LXIX. 

The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height 
Velmo cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; 
The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 
The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; 
The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 
And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat 
Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror se% 



LXX. 

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again 
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round. 
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain. 
Is an eternal April to the ground. 
Making it all one emerald : — how profound 
The gulf! and how the giant element 
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, 
Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and ren. 
With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful ven, 



^^^.^ jy PILGRIMAGE. 151) 



LXXI. 

To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 

More like the fountain of an infant sea 
• Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes 

Ufa new world, than only thus to be 

Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, 

With many windings, through the vale : — Look back 

Lo ! where it comes like an eternity, 

As if to sweep down all things in its track, 
Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract, (^} 



LXXII. 

Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge. 
From side to side, beneath the glittering^ morn, 
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, f) 
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn 
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn 
By the distracted waters, bears seiene 
Its Drilliant hues with all their beams unshorn : 
Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, 
L^ove watching Madness with unalterable mien. 



(n I saw the "Cascata del marmore" of Term twice at different periods, 
on'e from the summit of the precipice, anH aaam frorn .he val ey below. The lovver 
Slw far to be. preferred, if the [raveller has time for one only : but m any point of 
ZZ ei he from' above or below, it is worth all ^^^^^-^'^^,^1^^ .I'^lT' "[ ^S" 
zerla^d put toaelher : the S.aubach, Re.chenbach. P.sse Vache, fall of Arpenaz &c. 
are rUls'in comparative appearance. Of the fall of Schaff hausen I cannot speak, not 
yet having seen it. 

(^\ Dfthe time olace and qualities of this kind of iris the reader may have seen 
a short accourfn a not^ to Manfred. The fall looks so much like "the hell of 
Wafers" that Addison thought the descent alluded to by the gulf in which Alecto 
nlun'ed into the infernal regions. It is singular enough that two of the finest cas- 
cades in Europe should be" artificial-this of the VeTino, and the one ut Tivali 
The traUner is strongly recommended to trace the Velino, at least as high as the 
lit e lakrcalled Pie' diX^p. The Reatine territory was the Italian Temple,* 
and thranctent natural.st, among other beautiful varieties, remarked the dauy -ain- 
bows of 'he lake Velinus.t A scholar of great name has devoted a treatise to this 
district alone. t 

* " Reatini me ad sua Tempe duxerunt." Cicer. epi;'* ad Attic, xv. lib. iv. 
t " In eodem lacu nuUo non die apparere arcus." Plin. Hist. Nat. lib. n. cap. 

'"/Aid, Minut. de Reat.na Urbe Agroque, ap. Sallengre, Thesaur. torn. i. p. 778 



160 CHiLDE Harold's camtoit 

LXXIII. 

Once more upon the woody Apennine, 
The infant Alps, which — had I not before 
Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pme 
Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar 
The thundering lauwine — might be worshipp'd more ; (') 
But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear 
Ker never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar 
Glaciers of bleak Mount-Blanc both far and near, 
And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, 

LXXIV. 

Th' Acroceraunian mountains of old name : 
And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly 
Like spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame. 
For still they soar'd unutterably high : 
I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye ; 
Athos, Olympus, iEtna, Atlas, made 
These hills seem things of lesser dignity, 
All, save the lone Soracte's heights display'd 
Not now in snow, which asks the lyric Roman's aid 

LXXV. 

For our remembrance, and from out the plain 
Heaves hke a long-swept wave about to break, 
And on the curl hangs pausing : not in vain 
May he, who will, his recollections rake 
And quote in classic raptures, and awake 
The hills with Latian echoes ; I abhorr'd 
Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake. 
The drill'd dull lesson, forced down word by word {^) 
In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 

(1) In the greater part of Switzerland the avalanches are knov/n by the name of 
lauwine. 

(2) These stanzas may probably remind the reader of Ensign N'ortherton^s re* 
marks ; " D — n Homo," &c. but the reasons for our dislike are not exactly the same 
I wish to express that we become t red of the task before we can comprehend the 
bcautv : that we learn by rote before we can get by heart ; that the freshness is 
^orn awav, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, by the 
didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the power of 
compositions which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, 
to relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason we never can be aware of ihi 
fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeaie, (" To be. or not to be," for 
instance,) from the habit of having them hammered into us at eight years old, as an 
exercise, not of mind, but of memory: so that when we aie old enough to enjoy them, 
the taste is ^one, and the appetite palled. In some pans of the Continent, young 
persons are taught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till 
their maturity. I certainly do not speak on this point from any pique or aversion 
towards the place of my education. I was not a slow, though an idle boy ; and 1 



CASTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 16^ 

LXXVI. 

Aught that recalls the daily drug which turn'd 

IVIy sickening memory ; and, though Time hath taught 

• My mind to meditate what then it learn'd, 
Yet such the fix'd inveteracy wrought 
By the impatience of my early thought, 
That, with the freshness wearing out before 
My mind could relish what it might have sought, 
If free to choose, I cannot now restore 

Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor. 



LXXVII. 

Then farewell, Horace ; whom I hated so, 
Not for thy faults, but mine ; it is a curse 
To understand, not feel thy lyric flow. 
To comprehend, but never love thy verse, 
Although no deeper Moralist rehearse 
Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art, 
Nor hvelier Satirist the conscience pierce, 
Awakening without wounding the touch'd heart, 
Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. 



LXXVIII. 

Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! 
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
Lone mother of dead empires ! and control 
In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
What are our woes and sufierance ? Come and see 
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples. Ye ! 
Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 



believe no one could, or can be, more attached to Harrow than T have always been 
and with reason;— a part of the time passed there was the happiest of my lite ; and 
my preceptor (the Rev. Dr. Joseph Drury) was the best and worthiest friend I ever 
p.,ssessed, whose warnings I have remembered but too well, though too late, when 
t have erred.— and whose counsels 1 have but followed when T have done well or 
wisely. If ever this imperfect record of mv feelinifs towards him should reach h)3 
eves, let it remind him of one who never thmks of him but with gratuude and vene- 
ration—of one who would mo.e gladly boast of havmg been his pupil, it, by more 
closely following his injunctions he could reflect \ny honour upon his msiruclor. 

14* 



162 CHiLDE Harold's canto it 

LXXIX. 

The Niobe of nations ! there she stands 
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe, 
An empty urn within her wither'd hands, 
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; 
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; (^) 
The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
Old Tiber ! through a marble wildernesss ? 
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 

LXXX. 

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, 
Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ; 
•She saw her glories star by star expire. 
And up the steep barbarian monarch's ride. 
Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — 
Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void. 
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light. 
And say, " here was, or is," where all is doubly night ? 

LXXXI. 

The double night of ages, and of her, 
Night's daughter. Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap 
All round us ; we but feel our way to err : 
The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map. 
And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap ; 
But Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap 
Our hands, and cry " Eureka ! " it is clear — 
When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 

LXXXII. 

Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 
The trebly hundred triumphs ! (^) and the day 
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
The conquert>r's sword in bearing fame away! 
Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay 
And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be 
Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free ! 

(1) For a comment on this and the two following stanzas, the reader may consult 
Historical Illustralions of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. 

(2) Orosius gives three hundred and twenty for the number of triumphs. He ia 
followed by Panvinius ; and Panvimus by Mr. Gibbon and the modern writers. 



CANTO IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. 163 



LXXXIII. 



Oh thou, whose chariot roU'd on Fortune's wheel, (*) 
Triumphant Sylla ! Thou, who didst subdue 
Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to feel 
The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew 
O'er prostrate Asia ; — thou, who with thy frown 
Annihilated senates — Roman, too. 
With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down 
With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown — 



LXXXIV. 

The dictatorial wreath, — couldst thou divine 
To what would one day dwindle that which made 
Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine 
By aught than Romans Rome should thus be laid 1 
She who was named Eternal, and array'd 
Her warriors but to conquer — she who veil'd 
Earth with her haughty shadow, and display'd, 
Until the o'er-canopied horizon fail'd, 
Her rushing wings — Oh ! she who was Almighty hail'd ! 



LXXXV. 

Sylla was first of victors ; but our own 
The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell ; he 
Too swept off" senates while he hew'd the throne 
Down to a block — immortal rebel ! See 
What crimes it costs to be a moment free 
And famous through all ages ! but beneath 
His fate the moral lurks of destiny ; 
His day of double victory and death 
Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield his breath. 



(1) Certainly were it not for these two traits in the life of Sylla, alluded to in this 
stanza, we should regard him as a monster unredeemed by any admirable quality. 
Tho atonement of his vohntary resignation of empire may perhaps be accepted by 
us, as it seems to have satisfied the Romans, who, if they had not respected, must 
jiave destroyed him. There could be no mean, no division of opinion ; they must 
have all thought, like Eucrates, that what had appeared ambition was a love of glorjj 
and that what had been mistaken for pride was a real grandeur of soul. * 



+ " Seigneur, vons changez toutes mes idfees de la fafon dont je vous vois agir. 
Je croyois que vous aviez de I'ambition, mais aucune amour pour la gloire : je voyois 
bien que votre ame eioit haute ; mais je ne soupfonnois pas qu'elle fut graiide."— 
Dialogues de Sylla et d'Eucrate. 



164 CHILDE HAROLD'S 



CAM TO If 



LXXXVI. 

The third of the same moon whose former course 
Had all but crown'd him, on the self-same day 
Deposed him gently from his throne of force, 
And laid him with the earth's preceding clay. (^) 
And show'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway 
And all we deem delightful, and consume 
Our souls to compass through each arduous way. 
Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb 1 
Where they but so in man's, how different were his doom ! 

LXXXVII. 

And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in (') 
The austerest form of naked majesty. 
Thou who beheldest, 'mid the assassins' din, 
At thy bathed base the bloody Ccesar lie. 
Folding his robe in dying dignity. 
An offering to thine altar from the queen 
Of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die, 
And thou, too, perish, Pompey ? have ye been 
Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene ? 

LXXXVIII. 

And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome (') 
She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged dugs impart 
The milk of conquest yet within the dome 
Where, as a monument of antique art. 
Thou stand est : — Mother of the mighty heart, 
Which the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat, 
Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's etherial dart, 
And thy limbs black with lightning — dost thou yet 
Guard thine immorial cubs, nor thy fond charge forget 1 

LXXXIX. 

Thou dost ; — but all thy foster-babes are dead — 
The men of iron ; and the world hath rear'd 
Cities from out their sepulchres : men bled 
In imitation of the things they fear'd. 
And fought and conquer'd, and the same course steered, 
At apish distance ; but as yet none have, 
Nor could, the same supremacy have near'd. 
Save one vain man, who is not in the grave. 
But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a slave — 

(1) On the third of September, Cromwell rained the victory of Dunbar ; a yeai 
afterwards he obtained '• his crowning mercy" of Worcester : and a few years after 
on ihe same day, which he had ever esteemed the most fortunate for him, died. 

(2, 3) See " Historical Notes," Nos. XXIV. XXV. 



CANTO IT. PILGRIMAGE. 



:65 



xc. 

The fool of false dominion — and a kind 
Of bastard Caesar, following him of old 
With steps unequal ; for the Roman's mmd 
Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould, (') 
With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold, 
And an immortal instinct which redeem'd 
The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold, 
Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd 
At Cleopatra's feet, — and now himself he beam'd. 

xci. 
And came — and saw — and conquer'd ! But the man 
Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, 
Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van, 
Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, 
With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be 
A listener to itself, was straggly framed ; 
With but one weakest weakness — vanity. 
Coquettish in ambition — still he aim'd — ,.,,-, 
At what 1 can he avouch — or answer what he claim d i 

xcii. 
And would be all or nothing — nor could wait 
For the sure grave to level him ; few years 
Had fix'd him with the Caesars in his fate, 
On whom we tread : For this the conqueror rears 
The arch of triumph ! and for this the tears 
And blood of earth flow on as they have flow'd, 
An universal deluge, which appears 
Without an ark for wretched man's abode. 
And ebbs but to reflow ! —Renew thy rainbow, God ! 

XCIII. 

What from this barren being do we reap 1 ^ 
Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, C) 
Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, 
And all things weigh'd in custom's faisesc scale ; 
Opinion an omnipotence, — whose vei 
Mantles the earth with darkness, untd right 
And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale 
Lest their own judgments should become too bright. 
And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too much 
light. 

tV, See '« Historical Notes," at the end of this Canto, No. XXVI. 

(2 « omnes pane veteres : qui nihil co^nosci, nihil perce^i ^'^^'^'"^1^! 

dixerunt ; angustos sensus ; imbeciUos ammos, brevia curricula vitae ; in prolundo ve- 



166 CHILDE HAROLD'S CAMTO ITi 

XCIV, 

And thus they plod in sluggish misery, 
Rotting tVoui sire to son, and age to age, 
Proud of their trampled nature, and so die, 
Bequeathing their hereditary rage 
To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage 
War for their chains, and rather than be free, 
Bleed gladiator-like, and still engage 
Within the same arena where they see 
Their fellows fall before, like leaves of the same tree. 



xcv. 

I speak not of men's creeds — they rest between 
Man and his Maker — but of things allow'd, 
Averr'd, and known, — j'^d daily, hourly seen — 
The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd. 
And the intent of tyranny avow'd. 
The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown 
The apes of him who humbled once the proud. 
And shook them from their slumbers on the throne ; 
Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. 



xcvi. 

Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be. 
And Freedom find no champion and no child 
Such as Columbia saw arise when she 
Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undeiiled? 
Or must such minds be nourish'd in the wild, 
Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar 
Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled 
On infant Washington ? Has Earth no more 
Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore ? 



rit&tem demersam ; opinionibus et institutis omnia feneri : nihil veritati relinqui : 
deinceps omnia tencbris circumfnsa esse dixerunt."* The eii;hteen hundred \ears 
\\hich hare elapsed since Cicero wrote this have not removed anv of tlie imperfectioas 
of humanity; and the complamts of the ancient philosophers may, without injustUia 
or atfectation, be transcribed in a poem written yesterday. 



* Academ. 1. 13. 



CAKTOIV. PILGRIMAGE. 167 

XCVII. 

But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime, 
And fatal have her Saturnalia been 
To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime ; 
Because the deadly days which we have seen, 
And vile Ambition, that built up between 
Man and his hopes an adamantine wall, 
And the base pageant last upon the scene. 
Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall 
"Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst — his second 
fall. 

XCVIII. 

Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying. 
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; 
Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, 
The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; 
Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, 
Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth. 
But the sap lasts, and still the seed we find 
Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North ; 
So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. 

xcix. 
There is a stern round tower of other days, (^) 
Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone. 
Such as an army's baffled strength delays, 
Standing with half its battlements alone. 
And with two thousand years of ivy grown. 
The garland of eternity, where wave 
The green leaves over all by time overthrown ; — 
What was this tower of strength 1 within its cave 
What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid? — A woman's grave. 

c. 

But who was she, the lady of the dead, 
Tomb'd in a palace 1 Was she chaste and fair 1 
Worthy a king's — or more — a Roman's bed t 
What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear ? 
What daughter of her beauties was the heir ? 
How lived — how loved — how died she ? Was she not 
So honour'd — and conspicuously there, %r 

Where meaner relics must not dare to rot. 
Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot ? 

(1) Alluding to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, called Ca()0 di Bove. in the Appi&s 
way. See — Historical Illustrations of the IVtli Canto of Cliiitlo Ilaiold 



168 CHiLDE Harold's 



CAMTO If 



CI. 

Was she as those who love their lords, or they 
Who love the lords of others 1 such have been 
Even in the olden time, Rome's annals say. 
Was she a matron of Cornelia's mien, 
Or the light air of Egypt's graceful queen, 
Profuse of joy — or 'gainst it did she war, 
Inveterate in virtue 1 Did she lean 

To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar • 

Love from amongst her griefs ? — for such the affections are. 

oil. 
Perchance she died in youth : it may be, bow'd 
With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb 
That weigh'd upon her gentle dust, a cloud 
Might gather o'er her beauty, and a gloom 
In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom 
Heaven gives its favourites — early death ; yet shed (') 
A sunset charm around her, and illume 
With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead. 
Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. 

cm. 

Perchance she died in age — surviving all, 
Charms, kindred, children — with the silver gray 
On her long tresses, which might yet recal, 
It may be, still a something of the day 
When they were braided, and her proud array 
And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed 

By Rome but whither would Conjecture stray? 

Thus much alone we know — Metella died. 
The wealthiest Roman's wife : Behold his love or pride ! 

CIV. 

I know not why but standing thus by thee 
It seems as if I had thine inmate known, 
Thou tomb ! and other days come back on me 
With recollected music, though the tone 
Is changed and solemn, like the cloudy groan 
Of dying thunder on the distant wind ; 
Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone 
Till I had bodied forth the heated mind 
Forms from the floating wreck which Ruin leaves behind ; 

(1) ' Oi' «'( ^co\ (j)i\ov(nv, airo&vfi(XKZi vios. 

To yaii S-avelv ovk aia-ypov u\X al(T^f!2s ^av£7v. 
Rich. Franc. Phil. Brunck. Poelae Gnomici, p. 231, edit. 1784 



lANTO IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. 1 69 



CV. 

And from the planks, far shatter'd o'er the rocks. 
Built me a little bark of hope, once more 
To battle with the ocean and the shocks 
Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar 
Which rushes on the solitary shore 
Where all lies founder'd that was ever dear : 
But could I gather from the wave-worn store 
Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer ? 

There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here. 

cvi. 
Then let the winds howl on ! their harmony 
Shall henceforth be my music, and the night 
The sound shall temper with the owlets' cry. 
As I now hear them, in the fading light 
Dim o'er the bird of darkness' native site, 
Answering each other on the Palatine, 
With their large eyes, all glistening gray, and bright. 
And sailing pinions. — Upon such a shrine 

What are our petty griefs ? — let me not number mine. 

evil. 
Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown 
Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd 
On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strown 
In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd 
In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, 
Deeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls ? 
Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning reap'd 
From her research hath been, that these are walls — 

Behold the Imperial Mount ! 'tis thus the mighty falls. (*) 

cviii. 
There is the moral of all human tales ; (') 
'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past. 
First Freedom and then Glory — when that fails, 
Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. 
And History, with all her volumes vast. 
Hath but one page, — 'tis better written here. 
Where gorgeous Tyranny hath thus amass'd 
All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear, 

Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask Away with words ! 

draw near, 

(1) The Palatine is one mass of ruins, particularly on the side towards the Circug 
Maximus. The very soil is formed of crumbled brickwork. Nothing has been told, 
nothing can be told, to satisfy the beUef of any but a Roman antiquary. See — 
Historical Illustrations, page 206. 

(2) The author of the Life of Cicero, speakmg of the opinion entertained of Bn. 

15 



170 CHiLDE Harold's canto n 

cix. 

Admire, exult — despise — laugh, weep, — for here 
There is such matter for all feeling : — Man ! 
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. 
Ages and realms are crowded in this span, 
This mountain, whose obliterated plan 
The pyramid of empires pinnacled, 
Of Glory's gewgaws shinning in the van 
Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd ! 
Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared to build ? 

ex. 

Tully was not so eloquent as thou, 
Thou nameless column with the buried base ! 
What are the laurels of the Caesar's brow 1 
Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 
Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, 
Titus or Trajan's 1 No — 'tis that of Time : 
Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace 
Scoffing ; and apostolic statues climb 
To crush the imperial urn, wh 3se ashes slept sublime, (^) 

CXI. 

Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, 
And looking to the stars : they had contain'd 
A spirit which with these would find a home. 
The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign'd, 
The Roman globe, for after none sustain'd. 
But yielded back his conquests : — he was more 
Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd 
With household blood and wine, serenely wore 
■ His sovereign virtues — still we Trajan's name adore. (^) 

tain by that orator and his cotemporary Romans, has the following eloquent passage : 
" From their railleries of this kind, on the barbarity and misery of our island, ono 
cannot help reflecting on the surprismg fate and revolutions of kingdoms ; how Rome, 
once the mistress of the world, the seat of arts, empire, and glory, now lies sunk in 
sloth, ignorance, and poverty, enslaved to the most cruel as well as to the most con- 
temptible of tyrants, superstition and religious imposture : while this remote country, 
anciently the jest and contempt of the polite Romans, is become the happy seat of 
liberty, plenty, and letters ; flourishing in all the arts and refinements of civil life 
yet running perhaps the same course which Rome itself had run before it, from vir- 
tuous industry to wealth ; from wealth to luxury; fro i luxury to an impatience oi 
discipline, and corruption of morals : till, by a total degeneracy and loss of virtue, 
beino grown ripe for destruction, it fall a prey at last to some hardy oppressor, and, 
withthe loss of liberty, losing every thing that is valuable, sinks gradually again into 
rts original barbarism."* 

(1) The column of Trajan is surmounted by St. Peter; that of Aureliug by St, 
Paul. See — Historical Illustrations of the IVih Canto, &c. 

♦ The History of the life of M. Tullius Cicero, sect. vi. vol. ii, p. 102. The con- 



:aNTO IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. ' 171 



CXII. 



Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place 
Where Rome embraced her heroes 1 where the steep 
Tarpeian 1 fittest goal of Treason's race, 
The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap 
Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap 
Their spoils here 1 Yes ; and in yon field below, 
A thousand years of silenced factions sleep — 
The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, 
And still the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicero ! 



CXIII. 

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood : 
Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, 
From the first hour of empire in the bud 
To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd ; 
But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd, 
And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; 
Till every lawless soldier who assail'd 
Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes. 
Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. 



(2) Trajan was proverbially the best of the Roman princes ;* and it would oa 
easier to find a sovereign uniting exactly the opposite characteristics, than one pos» 
sessed of all the happy qualities ascribed to this emperor. " When he mounted the 
throne," says the historian Dion,"f " he was strong in body, he was vigorous ir 
mind ; age had impaired none of his faculties ; he was altogether free from envy and 
from detraction ; he honoured all the good, and he advanced them ; and on this ac- 
count they could not bo the objects of his fear, or of his hate ; he never listened tc 
informers:, he gave not way to his anger; he abstained equally from unfair exac- 
tions and unjust punishments ; he had rather be loved as a man than honoured as a 
sovereign ; he was affable with his people, respectful to the senate, and universally 
beloved by both; he inspired none with dread but the enemies of his country." 



trast has been reversed in a late extraordinary instance. A gentleman was tnrown 
into prison at Paris ; efforts were made for his release. The French minister con- 
tinued to detain him, under the pretext that he was not an Englishman, but only a 
Roman. See " Interesting Facts relating to Joachim Murat," pag. 139. 

* " Hujus tantum memorise delatum est, ut, usque ad nostram aetatem non aliter 
m Senatu principibus acclamatur, nisi, FELICIOR . AVGVSTO . MELIOR . 
TRAJANO." Eutrop. Brev. Hist. Rom. lib. viii. cap. v. 

t Tw T£ yap (TW/iart eppuyro Kai tti ^vyr; rjKjxa^sv, wj juj?^' virb yrjpi^S "/'- 

6\vv£(x6ai .... Kal ovt'' i<p6ovtL ovrz KaQripei Tiva, uWd Kal -Kuvv ■ndvras TOViuYadoiii 
iT'ma Kal ku^YoKwe- Kai Sia tuvto ovtc fcpoSe^rd riva avTUJv, ovte i^iaei . . JiaSuAuTs 
re riKtara £-niaT£V£, Kal dpyrj r^Kiara i^ov^niiro ' tu)v t£ '^^^prjjxdTOiv rSiv aXAwrpiwv ica Kill 
tpdvuiv Twv uStKijjv un£i^£TO .... (pi\o{)fi£v6s T£ ovv f7r' avrols jAaWov t) n/^w/^fvos 
£^atp£. Kal TO) T£ Sriixif) uer' £TTi£tK£iai avv£yiv£ro, Kal rrj yTjpovaia a£^VTrop£-nu)i ujhiXei- 
uyanriTbg jxiv iraai ' (pobEpbs 5} jxriSEvT, irXrjv noXEfxiois oiv. Hist. Rom. lib. Ixviii. cap, 
vi. et vii. torn. ii. p. 1123, 1124, edit. Hamb. 1750. 



172 CHiLDE Harold's 



CANTO vr. 



CXIV. 

Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, 
From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, 
Redeemer of dark centuries of shame — 
The friend of Petrarch — hope of Italy — 
Rienzi ! last of Romans ! While the tree (^) 
Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf, 
Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — 
The forum's champion, and the people's chief — 
Her new-born Numa thou — with reign, alas ! too brief. 

cxv. 
Egeria ! sweet creation of some heart (') 
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair 
As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art 
Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air, 
The nympholepsy of some fond despair ; 
Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth. 
Who found a more than common votary there 
Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth. 
Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. 

cxvi. 
The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 
With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face 
Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, 
Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place. 
Whose green, wild margin now no more erase 
Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters sleep, 
Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base 
Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 
The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creep 

CXVII. 

Fantastically tangled ; the green hills 
Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass 
The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 
Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ; 
Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class. 
Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 
Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; 
The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, 
Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its skies. 

(1) The name and exploits of Rienzi must be familiar to the reader of Gibbon. 
Some details and inedited manuscripts relative to this unhappy hero will be seen in the 
^Illustrations of the IVlh Canto. 

(2) See " Historical Notes," at the end of this canto, No. XXVII. 



CANTO IV 



PILGRIMAGE, 173 



cxvrii. 

Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, 
Egeiia ! thy all heavenly bosom beating 
I'or the far footsteps of thy mortal lover; 
The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting 
With her most starry canopy, and seating 
Thyself by thine adorer, what befel 1 
This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting 
Of an enamoured Goddess, and the cell 
Haunted by holy Love — the earliest oracle ! 

CXIX. 

And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, 
Blend a celestial with a human heart ; 
And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, 
Share with immortal transports 1 could thine art 
Make them indeed immortal, and impart 
The purity of heaven to earthly joys. 
Expel the venom and not blunt the dart — 
The dull satiety which all destroys — 
And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys 

cxx. 

Alas ! our young affections run to waste 
Or water but the desert ; whence arise 
But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, 
Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, 
Flowers whose wild odours brer.the but agonies. 
And trees whose gums are poison ; such the plants 
Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies 
O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants 
For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants 



CXXI. 

Oh Love ! no habitant of earth thou art — 
An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, 
A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, 
But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see 
The naked eye, thy form, as it should be ; 
The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven. 
Even with its own desiring phantasy, 
And to a thought such shape and image given, 
As haunts the unquench'd soul — parch'd — wearied 
wrung — and riven. 
15* 



174 CHILDE Harold's 



CANTO IT 



CXXII. 

Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, 
And fevers into false creation : — where, 
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized I 
In him alone. Can Nature show so fair 1 
Where are the charms and virtues which we dare 
Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men, 
The unreach'd Paradise of our despair. 
Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, 
And overpowers the page where it would bloom again ? 

CXXIII. 

Who loves, raves — 'tis youth's frenzy — but the cure 
Is bitterer still ; as charm by charm unwinds 
Which robed our idols, and we see too sure 
Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's 
Ideal shape of such ; yet still it binds 
The fatal spell, and still it draws us on, 
Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds ; 
The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun. 
Seems ever near the prize — wealthiest when most undone. 

cxxiv. 

We wither from our youth, we gasp away — 
Sick — sick ; unfound the boon — unslaked the thirst, 
Though to the last, in verge of our decay, 
Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first — 
But all too late, — so are we doubly curst. 
Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same, 
Each idle — and all ill — and none the worst — 
For all are meteors with a different name, 
And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame. 



cxxv. 

Few — none — find what they love or could have loved, 
Though accident, blind contact, and the strong 
Necessity of loving, have removed 
Antipathies — but to recur, ere long, 
Envenom'd with irrevocable wrono- ; 
And Circumstance, that unspiritual god 
And miscreator, makes and helps along 
Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, 
Whose touch turns Hope tr) dust, — the dust we all have trod. 



■AXTO IT. 



PILGRIMAGE. 1*76 



CXXVI. 

Our life is a false nature — 'tis not in 
The harmony of things, — this hard decree, 
This uneradicable taint of sin, 
This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree, 
Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be 
The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew — 
Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see — 
And worse, the woes we see not — which throb through 
The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. 



CXXVII. 

Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base (^) 
Abandonment of reason to resign 
Our right of thought — our last and only place 
Of refuge ; this, at least, shall still be mine : 
Though from our birth the faculty divine 
Is chain'd and tortured — cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, 
And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine 
Too brightly on the unprepared mind. 
The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the blind. 



CXXVIII. 

Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome, 
Collecting the chief trophies of her line. 
Would build up all her triumphs in one dome. 
Her Coliseum stands ; the moonbeams shine 
As 'twere its natural torches, for divine 
Should be the light which streams here, to illume 
This long-explored but still exhaustless mine 
Of contemplation ; and the azure gloom 
Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume 



(1) "At all events," says the author of the Academical Questions, " I trust, what- 
ever may be the fate of my own specu'alions, that philosophy will regain that estima- 
tion which it ought to possess. The free and philosophic spirit of our nation has been 
the iheme of admiration to the world. This was the proud distinction of EnLflishmen, 
dnd the luminous source of all their glory. Shall we then forget the manly and dif.mi-. 
fied sentiments of our ancestors, to prate in the language of the mother or the nurse 
about our good old prejudices? This is not the way to defend the cause of truth. It 
«as not thus that our fathers maintained it in the brilliant periods of our history. Pre- 
jiiilice may be trusted to guard the outworks for a short space of time, while reason 
numbers in the citadel ; but if the latter sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly 
erect a standard for herself Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty, support each other: 
he who will not reason is a bigot ; he who cannot, is a fool ; and he who dares not, u 
a slave " Preface, p. xiv. xv. vol. i. 1805. 



176 CHILDE HAROLD'8 CAMIJ ;y. 

CXXIX. 

Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heavea 
Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument, 
And shadows forth its glory. There is given 
Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent, 
A spirit's feehng, and where he hath leant 
His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power 
And magic in the ruin'd battlement, 
For which the palace of the present hour 
Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. 

cxxx. 

Oh Time ! the beautifier of the dead, 
Adorner of the ruin, comforter 
And only healer when the heart hath bled — 
Time ! the corrector where our judgments err, 
The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher. 
For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift. 
Which never loses though it doth defer — 
Time, the avenger ! unto thee 1 lift 
My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gill ; 

CXXXI, 

Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine 
And temple more divinely desolate. 
Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, 
Ruins of years — though few, yet full of fate : — 
If thou hast ever seen me too elate. 
Hear me not ; but if calmly I have borne 
Good, and reserved my pride against the hate 
Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn 
This iron in my soul in vain — shall they uot mourn ? 

CXXXII. 

And thou, who never yet of hunr.an wrong 
Lel't the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! (') 
Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long — . 
Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss, 
And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss 
For that unnatural retribution — just, 
Had it but been from hands less near than this 
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust ! 
Dost thou not hear my heart ? — Awake ! thou shalt, and 
must. 

'I) See " Historical Notes," at the end of this eanto, Na XXVIII. 



CANTO IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. ^TT 



CXXXIII. 



Tt is not that I may not have incurr'd 

For my ancestral faults or mine the wound 

I bleed withal, and, had it been conferr'd 

With a just weapon, it had flow'd unbound ; 

But now my blood shall not sink in the ground ; 

To thee I do devote it — ihou shalt take 

The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and foundv 

Which if / have not taken for the sake 

But let that pass — I sleep, but tliou shalt yet awake. 

CXXXIV. 

And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now 
I shrink from what it sufTer'd : let him speak 
Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, 
Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak ; 
But in this page a record will I seek. 
Not in the air shall these my words disperse, 
Though I be ashes ; a far hour shall wreak 
The deep prophetic fulness of this verse. 
And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse ! 

cxxxv. 

That curse shall be Forgiveness. — Have I not — 
Hear me, my mother Earth ! behold it. Heaven ! — 
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot ? 
Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven ? 
Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, 
Hopes sapp'd, name blighted. Life's life lisd away ? 
And only not to desperation driven, 
Because not altogether of such clay 
As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. 

CXXXVI. 

From mighty wronors to petty perfidy 
Have I not seen what human things could do ? 
From the loud roar of foaming calumny 
To the small whisper of the as paltry few. 
And subtler venom of the reptile crew. 
The Janus glance of whose significant eye, 
Learning to lie with silence, would seem true. 
And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, 
Deal round to happy fools its soeechiess obloquy. 



178 cHiLDE Harold's canto nr., 

CXXXVII. 

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : 
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, 
And my frame perish even in conquering pain ; 
But there is that within me which shall tire 
Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; 
Something unearthly, which they deem not of, 
Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre. 
Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move 
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. 

CXXXVIII. 

The seal is set. — Now welcome, thou dread power ! 
Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here 
Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour- 
With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear; 
Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 
Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear 
That we become a part of what has been. 
And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. 

cxxxix. 
And here the buzz of eager nations ran, 
In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause. 
As man was slaughter'd by his fellow man. 
And wherefore slaughter'd 1 wherefore, but because 
Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws. 
And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not 1 
What matters where we fall to fill the maws 
Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot? ^ 

Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot, 

CXL. 

I see before me the Gladiator lie : (^) 
Ho leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony. 
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
liike the first of a thiuider-shower ; and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone. 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who 
won. 

(1) Whether the wonderful statue which suggested this image be a laqueanan 



VAXTO IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. 179 



CXLI. 

He neard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was far away. 
He recli'd not of the hfe he lost nor prize, 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
There were his young barbarians all at play, 
There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — (^) 
All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire 
And unavenged 1 — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire I 

CXLII. 

But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam ; 
And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways. 
And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain stream 
Dashing or winding as its torrent strays ; 
Here, where the Roman millions' blame or praise 
Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, {^) 
My voice sounds much — and fall the stars' faint rays 
On the arena void — seats crush'd — walls bow'd — 
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. 



gladiator, which, in spite of Winkelmann's criticism, has been stoutly maintained * or 
whether it be a Greek herald, as that great antiquary positively asserted j or whether 
It IS to be thought a Spartan or barbarian shield-bearer, according to the opinion of 
his Italian editor, | it must assuredly seem a copy of that masterpiece of Ctesilaus 
whicii represented " a wounded man dying, who perfectly expressed what there re- 
mained of life in him."S MontfauconH and MaffeilT thought it the identical statue ; 
but that statue was of oronze. The gladiator was once in the villa Ludovizi and 
was bout;ht by Clement XII. The right arm is an entire restoration of Michael 
Angelo.** 

(1,'2) See " Historical Notes," at the end of this canto, Nos. XXIX XXX. 



* By the Abate Bracci, dissertazione supra un clipeo votivo, &c. Preface, pag. 7. 
who accounts for the cord round the neck, but not for the horn, which it does not 
appear the gladiators themselves ever used. Note A, Storia delle Arti, tom. ii p 
205. 

I Either Polifontes, herald of Laius, killed by CEdipus ; or Cepreas, herald of Eu- 
ritheus, killed by the Athenians when he endeavoured to drag the Herachdae from the 
altar of mercy, and in whose honour they instituted annual games, continued to the 
time of Hadrian ; or Anthemocritus, the Athenian herald, killed by the Megarenses, 
who never recovered the impiety. See Storia delle Arti, &c. tom. ii p. z03 204 
205, 206, 207, lib. Lx. cap. ii. ' 

t Storia, &c. tom. ii. p. 207. Not. (A.) 

§ " Vulneratum deficientem fecit in quo possit intelligi quantum restat anime;" 
Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. xxxiv. cap. 

|l Antiq. tom. iii. par. 2. tab. 155. 

IT Race. Stat. tab. 64. 

** Mus. Capitol, tom. iii. ji. 154. edit. 1755. 



180 CHiLDE Harold's canto iv 

CXLIII. 

A ruin — yet what ruin ! from its mass 
Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd ; 
Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass, 
And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. 
Hath it indeed been plunder'd,^ or but clear'd ? 
Alas ! developed, opens the decay, 
When the colossal fabric's form is near'd : 
It will not bear the brightness of the day, 
Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away, 

CXLIV. 

But when the rising moon begins to climb 
Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; 
When the stars twinkle through the loops of time. 
And the low night-breeze waves along the air 
The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear. 
Like laurels on the bald first Csesar's head ; (^) 
When the light shines serene but doth not glare, 
Then in this magic circle raise the dead : 
Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. 

CXLV. 

" While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; (j^) 
" When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; 
" And when Rome falls — the World." From our own land 
Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall 
In Saxon times, which we are wont tp call 
Ancient ; and these three mortal thino-s are still 
On their foundations, and unalter'd all ; 
Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, *• 

The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will. 

CXLVI. 

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — 

Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, 

From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time ; (') 

Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods 

(1) Suetonius informs us that Julius Caesar was particularly gratified by that t<c- 
eree of the senate, which enabled him to wear a wreath of laurel on all occasions. 
He was anxious, not to show that he was the conqueror of the world, but to hide that 
he was bald. A stranger at Rome would hardly have guessed at the motive, not 
should we without the help of the historian. 

(2) This is quoted in the " Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire ;" and a notice 
on the Coliseum may be seen in the Historical Illustrations to the IVth Canto of 
Childe Harold. 

C3) " Though plundered of all its brass, except the rmg wnich was necessary to 



CANTO IT. 



PILGRIMAGE. 181 



Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods 
His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! 
Shalt thou not last 1 Time's scythe and tyrants' rods 
Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home 
Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Rome ! 



CXLVII. 



Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts ! 
Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads 
A holiness appealing to all hearts — 
To art a model ; and to him who treads 
Rome for the sake of ages. Glory sheds 
Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those 
Who worship, here are altars for their beads ; 
And they who feel for genius may repose 
Their eyes on honour'd forms, whose busts around then 
close. (^) 



CXLVIII. 

There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light (') ^,_.. 
What do I gaze on 1 Nothing : Look again ! 
Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sight — 
Two insulated phantoms of the brain : 
It is not so ; I see them full and plain — 
An old man, and a female young and fair, 
Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein 
The blood is nectar : — but what doth she there, 
With ner unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare ? 



preserve the aperture above ; though exposed to repeated fires ; thoug-h sometimeg 
flooded by the river, and always open to the rain, no monument of equal antiquity »* 
so well preserved as this rotundo. It passed with little alteration from the Pagan 
into the present worship; and so convenient were its niches for the Christian altai 
that Michael Angelo, ever studious of ancient beauty, introduced their design as a 
model in the Catholic church." 

Forsyth's Remarks, &c. on [taly, p. 137. sec. edit. 

(1) The Pantheon has been made a receptacle for the busts of modern great, or, 
at least, distinguished, men. The flood of light which once fell through the large orb 
above on the whole circle of divinities, now shines on a numerous assemblage of mor- 
tals, some one or two of whom have been almost deified by the veneration of their 
countrymen. 

(2) This and the three next stanzas allude to the story of the Roman daughter, 
which is recalled to the traveller by the site, or pretended site, of that adventure now 
shown at the church of St. Nicholas in Carccre. The difficulties attending the full 
belief of the tal§ are stated in Historical Illustrations, &c. 

1A 



^g] CHILDE Harold's canto i?, 

CXLIX. 

Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, 
Where on the heart and from the heart we took 
Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, 
Blest into mother, in the innocent look. 
Or even the piping cry of lips that brook 
No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives 
Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook 
She sees her little bud put forth its leaves — 
What may the fruit be yet ? — I know not— Cain was Eve s. 

CL. 

But here youth offers to old age the food. 
The milk of his own gift ; — it is her sire 
To whom she renders back the debt of blood 
Born with her birth. No ; he shall not expire 
While in those warm and lovely veins the fire 
Of health and holy feeling can provide 
Great Nature's Nile, whose deep streams rises higher 
Than Egypt's river : — from that gentle side 
Drink, drink and live, old man! Heaven's realm holds no 
such tide. 

CLI. 

The starry fable of the milky way 
Has not thy story's purity ; it is 
A constellation of a sweeter ray. 
And sacred Nature triumphs more in this 
Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss 
Where sparkle distant worlds : — Oh, holiest nurse ! 
No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss 
To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source 
With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. 

CLII. 

Turn to the Mole which Hadrian rear'd on high, l^) 
Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, 
Colossal copyist of deformity. 
Whose travell'd phantasy from the far Nile's 
Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils 
To build for giants, and for his vain earth, 
His shrunken ashes, raise this dome : How smiles 
The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth. 
To view the huge design which sprung from such a birth ! 

(1) The castle of St. Angelo. See — Bistorical Illustrations. 



CAMTOIT. PILGRIMAGi:. 183 

CLIII. 

But lo ! the dome — the vast and wondrous dome, (') 
To which Diana's marvel was a cell — 
Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! 
I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — 
Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell 
The hyaena and the jackall in their shade ; 
1 have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell 
Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd 
Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd ; 

CLIV. 

But thou, of temples old, or altars new, 
Standest alone — with nothing like to thee — 
Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. 
Since Zion's desolation, when that He 
Forsook his former city, vvhat could be. 
Of earthly structures, in his honour piled, 
Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, 
Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
In this eternal ark of worship undetiled. 

CLV. 

Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; 
And why ? it is not lessen'd ; but thy mind. 
Expanded by the genius of the spot. 
Has grown colossal, and can only find 
A lit abode wherein appear enshrined 
Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou 
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, 
See thy God face to face, as thou dost now 
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. 

CLVI. 

Thou movest — but increasing with the advance. 
Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, 
Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; 
Vastness which grows — but grows to harmonise — 
All musical in its immensities ; 

Rich marbles — richer painting — shrmes where flame 
The lamps of gold — and haughty dome which vies 
In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame 
Sits on the firin-set ground — and this the clouds must claim. 

(1) This and the six next stanzas have a reierence to the clinrrnof St. Peter's 
For a miasurHrn'nf of the comparative length of this hasilica, and the other greal 
chiTc'i'? • of [sii'-ipp. s.><' III • jiavi-ment of St. Peter's, and the clas.sical Tou"- through 
Italy, vol. 1 [jug. 126. d scq. ciiajj. iv. 



184 CHiLDE Harold's 



CANTO IV 



CLVII. 

Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thou must break. 
To separate contemplation, the great whole ; 
And as the ocean many bays will make, 
That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul 
To more immediate objects, and control 
Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart 
Its eloquent proportions, and unroll 
In mighty graduations, part by part. 
The glory which at once upon thee did not dart, 

CLVin. 

Not by its fault — but thine : Our outward sense 
Is but of gradual grasp — and as it is 
That what we have of feeling most intense 
Outstrips our faint expression ; even so this 
Outshining and o'erwheiming edifice 
Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great 
Defies at first our Nature's littleness, 
Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate 
Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. 

CLIX. 

Then pause, and be enlighten'd ; there is more 
In such a survey than the sating gaze 
Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 
The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
Of art and its great masters, who could raise 
What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plait: 
The fountain of sublimity displays 
Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 
Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. 

CLX. 

Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
1 jaocoon's torture dignifying pain — 
A father's love and mortal's agony 
With an immortal's patience blending : — Tain 
The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain 
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, 
The old man's clench ; the long envenom'd chain 
Rivets the living links, — the enormous asp 
Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. 



«ANTO IT. 



PILGRIMAGE. 186 



CLXI. 



Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, 
The God of Hfe, and poesy, and Hght — 
The Sun in human hmbs array'd, and brow 
All radiant from his triumph in the fight ; 
The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright 
With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye 
And nostril beautiful disdain, and might 
And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, 
Developing in that one glance the Deity. 

CI-XII. 

But in his delicate form — a dream of Love, 
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
Long'd for a deathless lover from above, 
And madden'd in that vision — are exprest 
All that ideal beauty ever bless'd 
The mind with in its most unearthly mood, 
When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
A ray of immortality — and stood. 
Starlike, around, until they gather'd to a god ! 

CLXIII. 

And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven 
The fire which we endure, it was repaid 
By him ta whom the energy was given 
Which this poetic marble hath array'd 
With an eternal glory — which if made, 
By human hands, is not of human thought ; 
And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid 
One ringlet in the dust — nor hath it caught 
A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 'twas 
wrought. 

CLXIV. 

But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, 
The being who upheld it through the past ? 
Methinks he cometh late and tarries long. 
He is no more — these breathings are his last; 
His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, 
And he himself as nothing : — if he was 
Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd 
With forms which live and suffer — let that pass — 
His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, 

16* 



186 CHILDE Harold's 



CLXV. 



CAN'TO IV. 



Which gathers shadow, substance, Hfe, and ail 
That we inherit in its mortal shroud, 
And spreads the dim and universal pall 
Through which all things grow phantoms ; and the cloud 
Between us sinks and all which ever glow'd, 
Till Glory's sell' is twilight, and displays 
A melancholy halo scarce allow'd 
To hover on the verge of darkness ; rays 
Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, 

CLXVI. 

And send us prying into the abyss, 
To gather what we shall be when the frame 
Shall be resolved to something less than this 
Its wretched essence ; and to dream of fame. 
And wipe the dust from off the idle name 
We never more shall hear, — but never more. 
Oh, happier thought ! can we be made the same : 
It is enough in sooth that once we bore 
These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was gore. 

CLXVII. 

Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, 
A long low distant murmur of dread sound. 
Such as arises when a nation bleeds 
With some deep and immedicable wound ; 
Through storm and darkness yawns the rending ground, 
The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief 
Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd. 
And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief 
She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief. 



CLXVIII. 

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ? 
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ? 
Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low 
Some less majestic, less beloved head "? 
In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled. 
The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, 
Death hush'd thai pang for ever : with thee fled 
The present happiness and promised joy 
Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. 



CANTO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 187 

CLXIX. 

Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be, 
Oh thou that wert so happy, so adored ! 
Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, 
And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard 
Her many griefs for One ; for she had pour'd 
Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head 
Beheld her Iris. — Thou, too, lonely lord, 
And desolate consort — vainly wert thou wed ! 
The husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! 

CLXX. 

Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ; 
Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust 
The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid, 
The love of millions ! How we did intrust 
Futurity to her ! and, though it must 
Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd 
Our children should obey her child, and bless'd 
Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd 
Like stars to shepherds' eyes : — 'twas but a meteor beam'd. 

CLXXI. 

Woe unto us, not her ; for she sleeps well : 
The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue 
Of hollow counsel, the false oracle. 
Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung 
Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung 
Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate (') 
Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung 
Against their blind omnipotence a weight 
W^ithin the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late,— 

CLXXII. 

These might have been her destiny ; but no. 
Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair, 
Good without effort, great without a foe ; 
But now a bride and mother — and now there ! 
How many ties did that stern moment tear ! 
From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast 
Is link'd the electric chain of that despair, 
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest 
The land which loved thee so that none could love thee best. 

(1 ) Marv died on ihe scaffold ; Elizabeth of a broken heart ; Charles V. a hermit , 
Louis XIV. a bankrupt in nicans and jjlory ; Cromwell of anxiety ; and. " the great- 
est is behind," Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns a long but superflu- 
ous list might be added of names equally illustrious and unhappy. 



188 CHiLDi: Harold's canto iv. 

CLXXIII. 

Lo, Nemi ! (*) navell'd in the woody hills 
So tar, that the uprooting wind which tears 
The oak from his tbundation, and which spills 
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears 
Its foaui against the skies, reluctant spares 
The oval mirror ot^ thy glassy lake ; 
And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears 
A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake. 
All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. 

CLXXIV. 

And near Albano's scarce divided waves 
Shine from a sister valley ; — and afar 
The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves 
The Latian coast where sprang the Epic war, 
" Arms and the Man," whose re-ascendinij star 
Rose o'er an empire : — but beneath thy right 
TuUy repf ised from Rome ; — and where yon bar 
Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight 
The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's delight. [^) 

CLXXV. 

But I forget. — My Pilgrim's shrine is won, 
And he and I must part, — so let it be, — 
His task and mine alike are nearly done ; 
Yet once more let us lo )k upon the sea ; 
The midland ocean breaks on him and me. 
And from the Alban Mount we now behold 
Oiu- friend of youth, that ocean, which when we 
Beheld it last by Calpe's rock untold 
Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd 

CLXXVI. 

Upon the blue Symplegades : long years — 
Long, though not very many, since have done 
Their work on both ; some suffering and some tears 
Have left us nearly where we had begun : 
Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, 
We have had our reward — and it is here ; 
That we can yet feel gladden'd by the sun, 
And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear 
As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. 

(1) The villacre of Nemi was near the Arician retreat of Egeria, and, from tha 
shades which embosomed the temple of Diana, has preserved to this day its dislinc-* 
tive appellation of The Grove. Nemi is but an evening's ride from the comfortable 
inn of Albano. 

(2) See " Historical Notes," at the end of this Canto, No. XXXI. 



gjjITO IV. PILGRIMAGE. 



CLXXVII. 



189 



Oh ! that the Desert were my dwelUng-place, 
With one fair Spirit for my minister, 
That 1 might all forget the human race, 
And, hating no one, love but only her ! 
Ye Elements ! — in whose ennobUng stir 
I feel myself exalted — Can ye not ^ 
Accord me such a being 1 Do I err 
In deeming such inhabit many a spot 1 
Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. 

CLXXVIII. 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes, 
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : 
I love not Man the less, but Nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 
To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal. 

CLXXIX. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. 
When, for a moment, hke a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. 
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. 

CLXXX. 

His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 
And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
Spurnins^ hjm from thy bosom to the skies. 
And send'fit hi?r), shivering in thy playful spray 
And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies 
His petty hopp in some near port or bay, 
And dashest hiai uguia to earth . — there let him lay. 



1^ CHiLDE Harold's 

CLXXXl. 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 

CLXXXII. 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — > 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free. 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou, 
UnchariiTeable save to thy wild waves' play — 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

CLXXXIIJ. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time. 
Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime ■— 
The image of Eternity — the throne 
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

CLxxxitr. 

And I have loved thee. Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
I wanton'd, with thy breakers — they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, 
For I was as it were a child of thee. 
And trusted to thy billows far and near. 
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 



CAMTO «V 



".AN 10 IV. 



PILGRIMAGE. 191 



CLXXXV. 

My task is done — my song hath ceased — my theme 
Has died into an echo ; it is fit 
The spell should break of this protracted dream. 
The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit 
My midnight lamp — and what is writ, is writ, — 
Would it were worthier ! but I am not now 
That which I have been — and my visions flit 
Less palpably before me — and the glow 
Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low. 

CLXXXVI. 

Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been — 
A sound which makes us linger ; — yet — farewell ! 
Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene 
Which is his last, if in your memories dwell 
A thought which once was his, if on ye swell 
A single recollection, not in vain 
He wore his sandal-shoon, and scallop-shell ; 
Farewell ' with him alone may rest the pain, 
If such there were — with ^ow, the moral of bis stniui j 



HISTORICAL NOTES 



TO 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 



17 



HISTORICAL NOTES 



TO 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 



1. 

STATE DUNGEONS OF VENICE. 

" / stood in Venice^ on the Bridge of Sighs ; 
ul palace and a prison on each hand." 

Stanza i. lines 1 and 2. 

The communication between the ducal palace and the prisons of Venice is by a 
g oomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above the water, and divided by a stona 
wall into a passage and a cell. The state dunaeons, called " pozzi," or wells, were 
sunk in the thick walls of the palace ; and the prisoner when taken out to die was 
conducted across the gallery to the other side, and beiu;^ then led back into the other 
compai^JjFnent, or cell, upon the bridge, was there strangled. The low portal through 
which the criminal vas taken into this cell is now walled up ; bu* 'he passage is still 
open, and is still known by the name of the Bridge of Sighs. 1 ht pozzi are under 
the flooring of the chamber at the foot of the bridge. They weie formerly twelve, 
but on the first arrival of the French, the Vene'ians hastily blocked or broke up the 
deeper of these dungeons. You may still, however, descend by a frap-door, and 
crawl down through holes, half-choked by rubbish, to the depth of two stories below 
the first range. If you are in want of consolation for the extinction of patrician 
power, perhaps you may find it there; scarcely a ray of li^ht g'jr'-mers into the nar- 
row gallery which leads to the cells, and the |)laces of confinement themselves are 
totally dark. A small hole in the wall admitted the damp an of the passages, and 
served for the introduction of the prisoner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a fool 
from the ground, was the only furniture. The conductors tell you that a li^ht was not 
allowed. The cells are about five paces in length, two and a half in width, and seven 
feet in height. They are directly beneath one another, and respiraiion is s .me- 
what difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was found when the republi- 
cans descended into these hideous recesses, and he is said to have been confin'^d six- 
teen years. But the inmates of the dungeons beneath had left traces of their repent- 
ance, or of their despair, which are still visible, and may, perhaps, owe something to 
recent ingenuity. Some of the detained appear to have offended against, and others 
to have belonged to, the sacred body, not only from their signatures, but from the 
churches and belfries which they have scratched upon the walls. The reader may 
not object to see a specimen of the records prompted by so terrific a solitude. As 
nearly as they could be copied by more than one pencil, three of them are as follows : 

1. NON TI FIDAR AD ALCUNO PENSA e TACI 
SE FUGIR VUOI DE SPIONI INSIDIE 6 LACCI 
IL PENTIRTI PENTIRTI NULLA GIOVA 

MA BEN DI VALOR TUO LA VERA PROVA 

1607. ADI 2, GENARO. FTTI RK- 
TENTO P' LA BESTIEMMA P' AVER DATO 
DA MANZAR A UN MORTO 

lACOMO . GRITTI . SCRIS?8, 

2. UN PARLAR POCHO et 
NEGARE PRONTO et 

UN PENSAR AL FINE PUO DARE LA VITA 
A NCI ALTRI MESCHINI 



196 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

1605. 

EGO JOHN BAPTI3TA AD 
ECCLESIAM CORTELLARIUS. 
S. DE CHI MI FIDO GUARDAMI DIO 

DE CHI NON MI FIDO MI GUARDARO 10 
A TA H A NA 

V , LA S . C . K . R 

The copyist has followed, not corrected, the solecisms ; some of which are, now* 
ever, not quite so decided, since the letters were evidently scratched in the dark. 
It only need he observed, that bestemmia and mangiar may be read in tho first in- 
scription, which was probably written by a prisoner confined for some act of impioty 
committed at a funeral ; that CortelUrius is the name of a parish on terra firma, 
near the sea ; and that the last initials evidently are put for Viva la Santa Chiesa 
Kaiiolica Homana. 



II. 

SONG OF THE GONDOLIERS. 

** In Venice Tasso^s echoes are no morcy 

Stanza iii, line 1. 

The well-known song of the gondoliers, of alternate stanzas from Tasso's Jerma" 
lem, has died with the independence of Venice. Editions of the poem, with the ori^ri- 
nal in one column, and the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the boat- 
men, were once common, and are still to be found. The following extract will servo 
loshow the difference between the Tuscan opic and the •' Ganta alia Barcaiiola." 

ORIGINAL,. 

Canto I' arme pielose, e '1 capitano 

Che '1 gran Sepolcro liberb di Gristo. 
Molto egli opr5 col senno, e con la man« 

Molto soffrl nel glorioso acquisto ; 
E m van I' Inferno a lui s' oppose, e in vano 

S' armO d' Asia, e di Libia il popol misto, 
Che il Ciel gh di6 favore, e sotto a i Santi 
Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti 

VENETIAN. 

L' arme pietose de cantar gho vogia, 

E de GolTredo la immortal braura 
Che al fin 1' ha libera co strassia, e dogia 

Del nostro buon Gesu la Sepoltura 
De mezo mondo unito. e de quel Bogia 

Missier Pluton non 1' ha bu mai paura : 
Dio 1' ha agiuta, e i compagni sparpagnai 
Tutti '1 gh' i ha messi insieme i di del Dai. 

Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up and continue a stanza of thea 
once familiar bard. 

On the 7th of last January, the author of Childe Harold, and another Englishman, 
the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lido with two singers, one of" whom was a car- 
penter, and the other a gondolier. The former placed himself at the prow, the latter 
at the stern of the boat. A little after leaving the quay of the Piazzetta, they began 
to sing, and continued their exercise until we arrived at the island. They gave us, 
atncn^si other essays, the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida ; and did not 
sing; ihe Venetian, but the Tuscan verses. The carpenter, however, who was the 
cleverer of the two, and was frequently obliged to prompt his companion, told us that he 
could translate the original. He added, that he could sing almost three hundred stan- 
za? but had not spirits {morbin was the word he used) to learn any more, or to sing 
what he already knew : a man must have idle time on his hands to acquire or to re 



CAM TO THE FOURTH, 1^7 

peat, and, said the poor fellow, " look at my clothes and at me ; I am starving.'' 
This t;peech was more affecting than his perf umance, which habit alone can maki" 
attractive. The recitative was shrill, screaming, and monotonous ; and the gondolier 
behind assisted his voice by holdmcr his hand to one side ot his mouth. The carpen- 
ter used a quiet action, which he evidently endeavoured to restrain • but was too much 
interested in his subject altogether to repress. From these men we learnt that sing- 
ing is not confined to the gondoliers, and that, although the chant is seldom, if ever 
voluntary, there are still several amongst the lower classes who are acquainted with 
few stanzas. 

It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to row and sing at the same 
time. Although the verses of the Jerusalem are no longer casually heard, there is 
yet much music upon the Venetian canals ; and upon holydays, those strangers who 
are not near or informed enough to distinguish the words, may fancy that many of the 
gondolas still resound with the strains of Tasso. The writer of some remarks which 
api)eared in the " Curiosities of Literature" must excuse his being twice quoted ; for, 
with the exception of some phrases a little too ambitious and extravagant, he has fur- 
nished a very exact, as well as agreeable, description. 

" In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long passages from Ariosto and Tasso. 
and often chant them with a peculiar melody. But this talent seems at present on tlie 
decline : — at least, after taking some pains, I could find no more than two persons who 
delivered to me in this way a passage from Tasso. I must add, that the late Mr. 
Berry once chanted to mo a passage in Tasso in the manner, as he assured me, of the 
gondoliers. 

" There are always two concerned, who alternately sing the strophes. We know 
tiic melody eventually by Rousseau, to whose songs it is printed ; it has properly no 
melodious movement, and is a sort of medium between the canto fermo and the canto 
figurato ; it approaches to the former by recitativical declamation, and to the latter by 
passages and course, by which one syllable is detiiined and embellished. 

" I entered a gondola by moonlight; one singer placed himself forwards and the 
other aft, and thus proceeded to St. Georgio. One began the song : when he had 
ended his strophe, the other took up the lay, and so continued the song alternately. 
Throughout the whole of it, the same notes invariably returned, but, according to the 
subject matter of the strophe, they laid a greater or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, 
and sometimes on another note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the whole 
strophe as the object of the poem ahered. 

" On the wh )le, however, the sounds were hoarse and screaming : they seemed, in 
the manner of all rude uncivilised men, to make the e.xcellency of their singing in the force 
of their voice : one seemed desirous of conquering the other by the strength of his lungs ; 
and so far from receiving delight from this scene (shut up as I was in the box of the 
gondola,) I found myself in a very unpleasant situation. 

" My companion, to whom I communicated this circumstance, being very desirous 1o 
keep up the credit of his countrymen, assured me that this singing was verv delightt^ul 
when heard at a distance. Accordingly we got out upon the shore, leaving one of the 
singers in the gondola, while the other went to the distance of some hundred paces. 
They now began to sing against one another, and I kept walking up and down between 
them both, so as always to leave him who was to begin his part. I frequently stood 
still and hearkened to the one and to the other. 

" Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong declamatory, and, as it were, 
shrieking sound, met the ear from far, and called forth the attention ; the (juickly suc- 
ceeding transitions, which necessarily required to be sung in a lower tone, seemed hke 
plaintive strains succeeding the vnciferations of emotion or of pain. The other, who 
listened attentively, immediately began where the former left off. answering him in milder 
or more vehement notes, according as the purport of the strophe required. The sleepy 
canals, the lofty buildings, the splendour of the moon, the deep shadows of the few gon- 
dolas that moved like spirits hither and thither, increased the strikin<i peculiarity of the 
scene ; and, amidst all these circumstances, it was easy to confess the character of this 
wonderful harmony. 

' It suits perfectly well with an idle, solitary mariner, lying at length in his vessel at 
rest on one of these canals, waiting for his company, or for a fare, the tiresomeness of 
which situation is somewhat alleviated by the songs and poftj^ai stories he has in memo- 
ry. He often raises his voice as loud as he can, which extends itself to a vast distance 
over the tranquil mirror, and as all is still around, he is, as it were, in a solifud^^ in the • 
midsl of a larse and populous t iwn. Here is no rattlins; of carriages, no noite of loot 
Dassengers ; a silent gouilola ,<{'idi's now and then by him, of which the splashirgs of the 
oars are scarcelv to be hn.ard. 

17* 



198 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

** At u distance he liears another, perhaps utterly unknown to him. Melody ant 
verse immediately attach the two strangers ; he becomes the responsive echo to the 
formor, and exerts hmiself to be heard as he had heard the other. By a tacit con- 
vention they alternate verse for verse ; though the song should last the whole night 
ihrounh, diey entertain themselves without fatigue : the hearers, who are passing be- 
tween the two, take pait in the amusement. 

" This vocal performance sounds best at a great distance, and is then inexpressibly 
charminij, as it only fulfils its design in the sentiment of remoteness. It is plaintive, 
but not dismal in its sound, and at times it is scarcely possible to refrain from tears. 
My companion, who otherwise was not a very delicately organised peison, said quite 
unexpectedly : E singolare come quel canto intenerisce, e molto piu quando lo cantano 
nieglio. 

'* I was told that the women of Libo, the long row of islands that divides the Adri- 
atic from the Lagoons,* particularly the women of the extreme districts of Mala- 
niocco and Paiestrina, sing in like manner the works of Tasso to these and similar 
tunes. 

" They have the custom, when their husbands are fishing out at sea, to sit along 
the shore'in the evenings and vociferate these songs, and continue to do so with great 
violence, till each of them can distinguish the responses of her own husband at a dis- 
tance."! 

The love of music and of poetry distinguishes all classes of Venetians, even amongst 
the tuneful soi.s of Italy. The city itself can occasionally furnish respect^able audi- 
ences for two and even three opera-houses at a time ; and there are fev,- events m 
private life that do not call forth a printed and circulated sonnet. Docs a physician 
or a lawyer .take his degree, or a clergyman preach his maiden sermon, has a surgeon 
performed an operation, would a harlequin announce his departure or his benefit, arc 
you to be congratulated on a marriage, or a birth, or a lawsuit, the Muses are invoked 
to furnish the same number of syllai)les, and the individual triumphs blaze abroad in 
virgin white or party-coloured placards on half the corners of the capital. The last 
cui-v of a favourite " prima donna" brings down a shower of these poetical tri- 
butes from those upper regions, from which, in our theatres, nollnnt: but cnpids and 
snowstorms are accustomed to descend. There is a poetry in the very life of a 
Venetian, which, in its common course, is varied with those surprises and changes 
so recoinmendabie in fiction, but so ditferent Irom the sober monotony of northern ex- 
istence : amusements are raised inio duties, duties are softened into amusements, and 
every object being considered as equally making a part of the business of life, is an- 
nounced and performed with the same earnest indifference and gay assiduity. The 
Venetian gazette constantly closes its columns with the following tiiple udvertise- 
ment: — 

Charade. 



Exposition of the most Holy Sacrament in the church of St. — ^ 



Tlieatres, 

St. Moses, opera. 

St, Benedict, a comedy of characters. 

St. Luke, repose. 

When It is recollected what the Catholics believe their consecrated wafer lo >••>, 
rre may perhaps think it worthy of a more respectable niche than between poetry ana 
the playhouse. 



'^ The writer meant Lido, which is not along row of islands, but a long islaml • 
Uttus, the shore. 

* Curiosities ol Literature, vol. ii. p. 156, edit. 1807 ; and Appendix xxix. to Black's 
Life of Tasso. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 199 

III. 
THE LION AND HORSES OF ST. MARK'S. 

** St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood 

Stand," 

Stanza xi. line 5. 

The lion has lost nothing by his journey to the Invalides but tho gospel which suD* 
ported the paw that is now on a level with the other foot. The Horses also are re- 
turned to the ill-chosen spot whence they set out, and are, as before, half hidden under 
the porch of St. Mark's church. 

Their history, after a desperate struggle, has been satisfactorily explored. The 
decisions and doubts of Erizzo and Zanetti, and lastly, of the Count Leopold Cico"- 
nara, would have given them a Roman extraction, and a pedigree not more ancient 
than the reign of Nero. But M. de Schlegel stepped in to teach the Venetians tho 
value of their own treasures, and a Greek vindicated, at last and for ever, the preten- 
sion of his countrymen to this noble production.* M. Mustoxidi has not been left 
without a reply ; but, as yet, he has received no answer. It should seem that the 
horses are irrevocably Chian, and were transferred to Constantinople by Theodosius. 
Lapidary writing is a favourite play of the Italians, and has conferred reputation on 
more than one of their literary characters. One of the best specimens of Bodoni's 
typography is a respectable volume of inscriptions, all written by his friend Pacci- 
audi. Several were prepared for the recovered horses. It is to be hoped the best 
was not selected, when the following words were ranged in gold letters above the 
cathedral porch : — 

QUATUOR * EQUORUM ' SIGNA * A ' VENETIS ' BTZANTIO * CAPTA * AD ' TEMP • 
D • MAR • A • R • S • MCCIV * POSITA * QUiE * HOSTILIS ' CUPIDITAS ' MDCCIIIC ' 
ABSTULERAT ' FRANC * 1 ' IMP ' PACIS * ORBl • DAT^ * TROPH^UM * A * MDCCCXV * 
VICTO • REDUXIT. 

Nothing shall be said of the Latin, but it may be permitted to observe, that the in- 
justice of the Venetians in transporting the horses from Constantinople was at least 
equal to that of the French in carrying them to Paris, and that it would have been 
more prudent to have avoided all allusions to either robbery. An apostolic princo 
should, perhaps, have objected to affixing over the principal entrance of a metropolitan 
church an inscription having a reference to any other triumphs than those of religion. 
Nothing less than the pacification of the world can excuse such a solecism. 



IV. 

SUBMISSION OF BARBAROSSA TO POPE ALEXANDER III. 

" l^e Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — 
An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt." 

Stanza xii. lines 1 and 2. 

After many vain efforts on the part of the Italians entirely to throw off the yoke o 
Frederic Barbarossa, and as fruitless attempts of the Emjieror to make himself abso- 
lute master throughout the whole of his Cisalpine dominions, the bloody struggles of 
four and twenty years were happily brought to a close in the city of Venice.^ Tlie 
articles of a treaty had been previously agreed upon between Pope Alexander III. 
and Barbarossa ; and the former having received a safe-conduct, had already arrived 



* Su i quattro cavalli della Basilica di S. Marco in Venezia. Lettera di Andrea 
Mustoxidi Corcirese. Padua per Beftoni e compag. . . . 1816. 



200 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

at Venice from Ferrara, in company with tlie ambassadors of the liing of Sicily anJ 
the consuls of tlie Lombard league. There siill remained, however, raany pouitf. to 
adjust, and for several days the peace was believed to be unpracticable. Ac this 
juncture it was suddenly reported that llie Emperor had arrived at Ghioza, a town 
fifteen miles from the capital. The Venetians ruse luinultuously, and insisted upon 
immediately conducting him to the city. The Lombards took the alarm, and de- 
Darted towards Treviso. The Pope himself was apprehensive of some disaster if 
Frederic should suddenly advance upon him, but was reassured by the prudence and 
address of Sebastian Ziani, the Doge. Several embassies passed between Ghioza 
and the capital, until, at last, the Emperor, relaxing somewhat of his pretensions, 
" laid aside his leonine ferocity, and put on the mildness of the iamb."* 

On Saturday the 23d of July, in the year 1177, six Venetian Galleys transferred 
Frederic, in j^reat pomp, from Ghioza to the island of Lido, a mile Irom Venice. 
Early the next morning the Pope, accompanied by the Sicilian ambassadors, and by 
the envoys of Lombardy, whom he had recalled fiom the main land, together with a 
great concourse of people, repaired from the patriarchal palace to St. Mark's church, 
and solemnly absolved the Emperor and his partisans from the excommunication pro- 
nounced against him. The Ghancellor of the Empire, on the part of his master, 
renounced the anti-popes and their schismatic adherents. Immediately the Doge, 
with a great suite both of the, clergy and laity, got on board the galleys, and waiting on 
FVederic, rowed him in mighty state from the Lido to the capital. The Emperor 
descended from the galley at the quay of the Piazzetta. The Doge, the patriarch, 
his bishops and clergy, and the people of Venice with their crosses and their stand- 
ards, marched in solemn procession before him to the church of Saint Mark. Alex- 
ander was seated before the vestibule of the basilica, attended by his bishops and car- 
dinals, by the patriarch of Aquileja, by the archbishops and bishops of Lombaidy, all 
of ihem in state, and clothed in their church robes. Frederic approached — " moved 
by the Holy Spirit, venerating the Almighty in the person of Alexander, laying aside 
his imperial dignity, and throwing off his mantle, he prostrated himself at lull length 
at the feet of the Pope. Alexander, with tears in his eyes, raised him benignantly 
from the ground, kissed him, blessed him ; and immediately the Germans of the train 
sang, with aloud voice, ' We praise thee, O Lord.' The Emperor then taking tho 
Pope by the right hand, led him to the church, and having received his benediction, 
returned to the ducal palace. "f The ceremony of humiliation was repeated the next 
day. The Pope himself, at the request of Frederic, said mass at St. Mark's. The 
Emperor again laid aside his imperial mantle, and, taking a wand in his hand, offici- 
ated as verger, driving the laity from the choir, and procednig the pontiff to the altar. 
Alexander, afier reciting the gospel, preached to the people. The Emperor put him- 
self close to the pulpit in the attitude of listening; and the pontiff, touched by this 
mark of his atlention, (for he knew that Frederic did not understand a word he said) 
commanded the patriarcii of Aquileja to translate the Latin discourse into the German 
ton'jue. The creed was then chanted, l<'rederic made his oblation, and kissed the 
P ape's feet, and, mass being over, led him by the hand to his white horse. He held 
the stiiruji, and would have led the horse's rein to the water side, had not the Pope 
accepted of the inclination for the performance, and affectionately dismissed him with 
nis benediction. Such is the substance of the account left by the archbishop of Sa- 
erno, who was present at the ceremony, and whose story is confiimed by every sub- 
sequent narration. It would not be worth so minute a record, were it not the triumph 
of liberty as well as of superstition. The states of Lombardy owed to it the confir- 
mation of their privileges ; and Alexander had reason to thank the Almigiity, 
liad enabled an infirm, unarmed old man, to subdue a terrible and potent sovereig. 



* " duibus auditis, imperator, operante eo,quicorda principum sicut vult et quando 
vult htimiliter inclinat, leonina feritate deposita, ovinam mansuetudinem induit." Ro- 
mualdi Salernitani Chionicon. apud Script. Rer. Ital. Tom. VII. p. 229. 

t Ibid. p. 231. 

J See the above-cited Rorauald of Salerno. In a second sermon which Alexanaer 
preached, on the first day of August, before the Emperor, he compared Frederic to 
the prodigal son, and himself to the forgiving father. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 201 

V. 

HENRY DANDOLO. 

" Oh, for one hour of blind old Dandolo ! 
Th' octogenarian chiej, Byzantium's conquering foe " 

Stanza xii. lines 8 and 9. 

The reader will recollect the exclamation of the highlander, Oh for one hour of 
Dundee ! Henry Dandolo, when elected Doge, in 1192, was eighty-five years of a<fe. 
When he commanded the Venetians at the taking of Constantinople, he was conse- 
quenily ninety-seven years old. At this age he annexed the fourth and a half of the 
whole empire of Romania,* for so the Roman empire was then called, to the title 
and to the territories of the Venetian Doge. The three eiijhths of this empire were 
preserved in the diplomas until the dukedom of Giovanni Dolfino, who made use of 
the above designation in the year 1357.| 

Dandolo led the attack on Constantinople in person : two ships, the Paradise and 
the Pilgrim, were tied together, and a drawbridge or ladder letdown from their higher 
yards to the walls. The Doge was one of the first to rush into the city. Then was 
completed, said the Venetians, the prophecy of the Erythraean sibyl: — " A gathering 
together of the powerful shall be made amidst the waves of the Adriatic, under a blind 
leader; they shall beset the goat — they shall profane Byzantium — they shall 
blacken her buildings — her spoils shall be dispersed; a new goat shall bleat until 
they have measured out and run over fifty-four feet, nine inches, and a half."X 

Dandolo died on the first day of June, 1205, having reigned thirteen years si.\ 
months, and five days, and was buried in the church of St. Sophia, at Constanti- 
nople. Strangely enough it nmst sound, that the name of the rebel apothecary who 
received the Doge's sword, and anniliilated the ancient government, in 1796-7 was 
Dandolo. 



THE WAR OF CHIOZA.\ V-. ;^, «i4^^* 

'* But is not Dorians menace come to pass ?'''^^''i!^^n^^Zrx^^^^^ 
A.re they not bridled ? " 

Stanza xiii. lines 3 and 4. 

After the loss of the battle of Pola, and the taking of Chioza on the 16th of August, 
1379, by the imited armament of the Genoese and Francesco da Carrara, Signor of 
Pailua, the Venetians were reduced to the utmost despair. An embassy was sent 

* Mr. Gibbon has omitted the important as, and has written Romani instead of 
Romanise. Decline and Fall, cap. Ixi. note 9. But the tide acquired by Dandolo 
runs thus in the chronicle of his namesake, the Doge Andrew Dandolo. " Ducali tituio 
addidit, ' Quartce partis et dimidice totius imperii Romanics.' " And. Dand. Chroni- 
con. cap. iii. pars xxxvii. ap. Script. Rer. Ttal. tom. xii. page 331. And the Ro- 
manise i.s observed in the sufcseq^ient acts of the Doges. Indeed, the continenial pos- 
sessions of ihe Greek empire in Europe were then generally kmown by the name oi 
Romania, and that appellation is still seen in the maps of Turkey as applied to 
Thiace. 

"f See the continuation of Dandolo's Chronicle, ibid, page 498. Mr. Gibl.or 
appears not to include Dolfino, following Sanudo, who says, " il qual totolo si ush /ra 
ai Dos:e Giovanni Dolfino." See Vita de' Duchi di Venezia, ap. Script. Rer. [;ai 
tom. xxii. 530. 641. 

J Fiet potentium in aquis Adriaticis congregatio cseco praeduce, Hircum amh)- 



202 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

vo the conquerors with a blank sheet of paper, praying them to prescribe what terms 
they pleased, and leave to Venice only her independence. The Prince of Padua 
was iaclint'd to listen to these proposals, but the Genoese, who, after the victory at 
Pola, had shouted, '' To Venice, to Venice, and long live St. George!" determined to 
annihilate their rival ; and Peter Doria, their commander-in-chief, returned this an- 
swer to the suppliants : " On God's faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no 
peace from the Signor of Padua, nor from our commune of Genoa, until we have 
first put a rein upon those unbridled horses of yours, that are upon the porch of your 
evangelist St. Mark. When we have bridled them, we shall keep you quiet. And 
this is the pleasure of us and cf our commune. As for these my brothers of Genoa, 
that you have brought with you to give up to us, I will not have them ; take them 
back ; for, in a few days hence, I shall come and let them out of prison myself, both 
these and all the others."* In fact, the Genoese did advance as far as Malarnocco, 
within five miles of the capital ; but their own danger and the pride of their enemies 
gave courage to the Venetians, who made prodigious efforts, and many individual 
sacrifices, all of them carefully recorded by their historians. Vettor Pisir.i was put 
at the head of thirty-four galleys. The Genoese broke up from Malarnocco, and re- 
tired to Chioza in October ; but they again threatened Venice, which was reduced 
to extremities. At this tim«, the 1st of January, 1380, arrived Carlo Zeno, who had 
been cruising on the Genoese coast with fourteen galleys. The Venetians were now 
strong enough to besiege the Genoese. Doria was killed on the 22d of January by 
a stone bullet 195 pounds weight, discharged from a bombaid called the Trevisaru 
Chioza was then closely invested : 5000 auxiliaries, among whom were some English 
condottieri, commanded by one Captain Ceccho, joined the Venetians. The Ge- 
noese, in their turn, prayed for conditions, but none were granted, until, at last, they 
surrendered at discretion ; and, on 'he 24th of June, 1380, the Doge Contarini made 
nis triumphal entry into Chioza. Four thousand prisoners, nineteen galleys, many 
smaller vessels and barks, with all tlie ammunition an J arms, and outfit of the expedi- 
tion, fell into the hands of the conquerors, who, had it not been for the inexorable 
answer of Doria, would have gladly reduced their dominion to the city of Venice. 
An account of these transactions is found in a work called the War of Chioza, writ- 
ten by Daniel Chinazzo, who was in Venice at the time.+ 



VII. 

VENICE UNDER THE GOVERNMENT OF AUSTRIA. 

" TViin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must 
Too oft remind her who and what enthrals." 

Stanza xv. lines 7 and 8. 

The population of Venice at the end of the seventeenth century amounted to nearly 
two hundred thousand souls. At the last census, taken two years a^o, it was no 
more than about one hundred and three thousand ; and it diminishes daily. The com- 
merce and the official employments, which were to be the unexhausted source of 

gent. Byzantium prophanabunt, jedificia denigrabunt ; spolia dispergentur, Hircus 
novus balabit usque dum liv pedes et ix poUices, et semis prsemensurati discur- 
rant." — Chronicon, ibid, pars xxxiv. 

* " Alia f^ di Dio, Signori Veneziani, non haverete mai pace dal Signore di Pa- 
doua, ne dal nostro commune di Genova, se pritnieramente non mettemo le briirlie a 
quelli vostri cavalli sfrenati, che sono su la reza del vostro Evangelista S. Marco. 
Imbrenati che gli havremo, vi far^mo stare in buona pace. E questa e la intenzione 
nostra, e del nostro commune, Gtnesti miei fratelli Gen jvesi che havete menaM con 
voi per donarci, non li voglio ; rimanetegli in dietro perche io intendo da qui a pochi 
giorni venirgli a riscuoter, dalle vostre prigioni, e loro e gli altri." 

t " Chronica della Guerra di Chioza," &c. Script. Rer. Italic, om xv. pp. 699 
to 804. "^"^ 



CANTO TliE FOURTH. 203 

Tenetian grandeur, have both expired.* Most of the patrician mansions are deserted, 
and would gradually disappear, had not the government, alarmed by the demolition 
orsoveiity-iwo, duruig the last two years, expressly forbidden this sad resource oi 
poveriv. Many remnants of the Venetian nobility are now scattered, and confounded 
with the wealthier Jews upon the banks of the Brenta, whose Palladian palaces have 
sunk, or are sinking, in the general decay. Of the " gentiluomo Veneto," the name 
is still known, and that is all. He is but the shadow of his former self, but he is 
oolite and kind. It surely may be pardoned to him if he is querulous Whatever 
may have been the vices of the republic, and although the natural term of its exist- 
ence may be thought by foreigners to have arrived in the due course of mortality, 
only one sentiment can be expected from the Venetians themselveis. At no time 
were the subjects of the republic so unanimous in their resolution to rally round the 
standard of St. Mark, as when it was for the last time unfurled ; and the cowardice 
and the treachery of the few patricians who recommended the fatal neutrality were 
confined to the persons of the traitors themselves. The present race cannot be 
thought to regret the loss of their aristocratical forms and too despotic government ; 
they think only on their vanished independence. They pine away at the remem- 
brance, and on this subject suspend for a moment their gay good humour. Venice 
may be said, in the words of the Scripture, " to die daily ;" and so general and so 
apparent is the decline, as to become painful to a stranger, not reconciled to the 
sight of a whole nation expiring as it were before his eyes. So artificial a cre- 
ation, having lost that principle which called it into life and supported its existence, 
must fail to pieces at once, and sink more rapidly than it rose. The abhorrence 
of slavery which drove the Venetians to the sea, has, since their disaster, forced 
them to the land, where they may be at least overlooked amongst the crowd of 
dependants, and not present the humiliating spectacle of a whole nation loaded 
with recent chains. Their liveliness, their affability, and that happy indifference 
which constitution alone can give (for philosophy aspires to it in vain) have not 
punk under circumstances ; but many peculiarities of costume and manner have by 
degrees been lost, and the nobles, with a pride common to all Italians who have 
been masters, have not been persuaded to parade their insignificance. That splen- 
dour which was a proof and a portion of their power, they would not degrade into 
the trappings of their subjection. They retired from the space which they had 
occupied in the eyes of their fellow-citizens ; their continuance in which would 
have been a symptom of acquiescence, and an insult to those who suffered by the 
common misfortune. Those who remained in the degraded capital might be said 
rather to haunt the scenes of their departed power, than to live in them. The 
reflection, " who and what enthrals," will hardly hear a comment from one who 
is, nationally, the friend and the ally of the conqueror. It may, however, be al- 
lowed to say thus much, that to those who wish to recover their independence, 
any masters must be an object of detestation ; and it may be safely foretold that 
this unprofitable aversion will not have been corrected before Venice shall have 
sunk into the slime of her choked canals. 



♦ " Nonnullorum ^ nobilitate immensse sunt opes, adeout vix aestimari possint : id 
quod tribus b rebus oritur, parsimonia, commercio, atque iis emolumentis, quae 6 
Repub. percipiunt, qwds banc ob causam diuturna fore creditur." — See de Principe* 
«>;us Ttaliae, Tractatus, edit. 1631, 



204 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

VIII. 

LAURA. 

*' Wateiing the tree which bears his lady^s name 
VVith his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. " 

Stanza xxx. ILies 8 and 9. 

Thanks to the critical acumen of a Scotchman, we now know as httle of Laura M 
ever.* The discoveries of the Abbe de Sade, his tiiumphs, his sneers, can na longer 
instruct or amuse. | We must not, however, think that these memoirs arc ;i# much 
a romance as Belisarius or the Incas, although we are told so by Dr. Bea; tie, a 
great name, but a Uttle authority. t His "labour" has not been in vain, noi-.vith- 
Btanding his " love " has, like most other passions, made him ridiculous. § The 
hypothesis which overpowered the struggling Italians, and carried along less inte- 
rested critics in its current, is run out. We have another proof that we can be never 
sure that the paradox, the most singular, and therefore having the most agreeable 
and authentic air, will not give place to the re-established ancient prejudice. 

It seems, then, first, that Laura was born, lived, died, and was buried, not in Avig- 
non, but in the country. The fountains of the Sorga, the thickets of Cabrieres, may 
resume their pretensions, and the exploded de la Bastie again be heard with compla- 
cency. The hypothesis of the Abbe had no stronger pro|)S than the parchment 
sonnet and medal found on the skeleton of the wife of Hugo de Sade, and the 
manuscript note to the Virgil of Petrarch, now in the Ambrosian library. If these 
proofs were both incontestable, the poetry was written, the medal composed, cast, 
and deposited within the space of twelve houis: and these deliberate duties were 
performed round the carcass of one who died of the plague, and was hurried to the 
grave on the day of her death. These documents, therefore, are too decisive : they 
prove not the fact, but the forgery. Either the sonnet or the Virgilian note must be 
a falsification. The Abb6 cites both as incontestably true ; the consequent deduction 
is inevitable — they are both evidently false. || 

Secondly, Laura was never married, and was a haughty virgin rather than that 
tender and prudent wife who honoured Avignon by making that town the theatre of 
an honest French passion, and played otf for one and twenty years her little ma- 
chinery of alternate favours and refusals If upon the first poet of the age. It was, 
indeed, rather too unfair that a female should be made responsible for eleven children 
upon the faith of a mismterpreted abbreviation, and the decision of a librarian.** It 



* See an Historical and Critical Essay on the Life and Character of Petrarch; 
and a Dissertation on an Historical Hypothesis of the Abbe de Sade : the first ap- 
peared about the year 1784 ; the other is insetted in the fourth volume of the Trans- 
actions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and both have been incorporated into a 
work, published, under the first title, by Ballantyne m 1810. 

■f Meraoires pour la Vie di Pfetrarque. 

J Life of Beattie, by Sir W. Forbes, t. ii. p. 106 

§ Mr. Gibbon galled his Memoirs " a labour of love" (see Decline and Fall, cap. 
Ixx. note 1.) and followed him with confidence and delight. The compiler of a very 
voluminous work must take much criticism upon trust ; Mr. (Jif-bon has done so, 
though not as readily as some other authors. 

II The sonnet had before awakened the suspicions of Mr, Horace Walpole. 
See his letter to Wharton in 1763. 

IF " Par ce petit manfege. cette alternative de faveurs et da rigueurs bien me- 
nagee. une femme tendre et sage amuse, pendant vingt et un ans, le plus grand 
poete de son si^cle, sans faire la moindre bi^che a son honneur." Mem. pour la 
Vie de Petrarque. Preface aux Francois. The Italian editor of the London edition 
of Petrarch, who has translated Lord Woodhouselee, renders the " femme tendre et 
Bacfe," raffinata civetta." Riflessioni intorno a madonna Laura, p. 234, vol. iii. ed. 
1811. 

** In a dialogue with St. Au^ustin, Petrarch has described Laura as having a 
body exhausted with repeated ptnbx. The old editors read and printed perturbatumi- 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 20S 

is, however, satisfactory to think that the love of Petrarch was not platonic. The 
happiness which he prayed to possess but once and for a moment was surely not 
of iho mind,"^ and sonieihmg so very real as a marriage project, with one who has 
been idly called a shadowy nymph, may oe, perhaps, detecled in at least six places 
ofl)is own sonnets. "f The love of Petrarch was neither platonic nor poetical ; and 
if in one passage of his works he calls it " amore veementeissmio ma unico ed 
onesto," he conlesses, in a letter to a friend, that it was guilty and perverse, that it 
absoibed him quite, and mastered his heart. j; » 

In this case, however, he was perhaps alarmed for the culpability of his wishes ; 
fo! the Abbe de Sade himself, who certainly would not have been scrupulously delicate 
if he could have proved his descent from Petrarch as well as Laura, is forced into a 
stout defence of his virtuous grandmother. As far as relates to the poet, we have no 
Security for the innocence, except perhaps in the constancy of liis pursuit. He as- 
Eurij lis in his epistle to posterity, that, when arrived at his fortieth year, he nut only 
had ui horror, but had lost all recollection anl image of any " irregularity ."§ But the 
birth of his natural daughter cannot be assigned earlier than his thirty-ninth year ; and 
either the memory or the morality of the poet must have failed him, when he foryot or 
was guilty of this slip.\\ The weakest argument for the purity of this love has beeu 
drawn liom the permanence of its effects, which survived the object of his passittn. 
The rellection ofM. de la Bastie, that virtue alone is capable of making impressitJiis 
wh'ch death cannot efface, is one of those which every body applauds, and every 
bony finds not to be true, the moment he examines his own breast or the records of 
human feeling. 1[ Such apophthegms can do nothing for Petrarch or for the cause 
of morality, except with the very weak and the very young. He that has made even 
a little [)rogress beyond ignorance and pupilage cannot be edified with any thing but 
truth. What is called vindicating the honour of an individual or a nation, is the most 
futile, tedious, and uninstructive of all writing ; although it will always meet with 
more applause than that sober criticism, which is attributed to the malicious desire 
of reducing a great man to the common standard of humanity. It is, after all, not 
unlikely, that our historian was rightin retaining his favourite hypothetic salvo, which 
secures the author, although it scarcely saves the honour of the still unknown mis- 
tress of Petrarch.** 



bus; but M. Capperonier, librarian to the French king in 1792, who saw the MS. 
in the Paris libiary, made an attestation that " on lit et qu'on doit lire, partuims 
exhaustum." De Sade joined the names of Messrs. Boudot and Bejot wiih M. 
Capperonier, and in the whole discussion on this ptubs, showed himself a downiii.;ht 
literary rogue. See Riflessioni, &c. p. 267. Thomas Aquinas is called in to settle 
whether Petrarch's mistress was a chaste maid or a continent wile. 

+ " Pigmalion, quanto lodar ti dei 
Dell' imagine tua, se mille volte 
N' avesti quel ch' i' sol una vorrei." 

Sonetto 58, quando giunae a Simon Valto concetto, 
Le Rime, &c. par, i. pag. 189, edit. Ven. 1756, 

j See Riflessioni, &c. p. 291. 

X " Q,uella rea e perversa passione che solo tutto mi occupava e mi regnava nel 
cuore," 

§ ^^ Azion dishonesta" are his words. 

II " A questa confessione cosi sincera diede forse occasione una nuova caduta ch 
ei fece." Tiraboschi, Storia, &c. torn. v. lib. iv. par. ii. pag. 492. 

IT " II n'y a que la vertu seule qui soit capable de faire des impressions que la 
mort n'efface pas." M. de Bimard, Baron de la Bastie, in the Memoires de I'Aca- 
demie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres for 1740 and 1751. See also Riflessioni, 
&c. p. 295. 

* * " And if the virtue or prudence of Laura was inexorable, he enjoyed, and 
might boast ol* enjoying, the nyriph of poetry." Decline and Fall, cap. Ixx. p. 327. 
vol, xii. 8vo. Perhaps tJie if is here meant for although. 

18 



806 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

IX. 

PETRARCH. 

" They keep his dust in Arqxui, where he died" 

Stanza zxxi. line 1* 

Petrarch retired to Arqua immediately on his return from the unsuccessful attempt 
to visit Urban V. at Rome, in the year 1370, and, with the exception of his celebrated 
visit to Venice, in company with Francesco Novello da Carrara, he appears to havo 
passed the four last years of his life between that charming sohtude and Padua. 
For four months previous to his death he was in a state of continual languor, and in 
the morning of July the 19th, in the year 1374, was found dead in his hbrary chair 
with his head resting upon a book. The chair is still shown amongst the precious 
relics of Arqua, which, from the unuiterrupted veneration that has been attached to 
every thing relative to this great man from the moment of his death to the present 
hour, have, it may be hoped, a better chahee of authenticity than the Shakspearian 
memorials of Stratford-upon-Avon. 

Arqua (for the last syllable is accented in pronunciation, although the analogy of 
the English language has been observed in the verse) is twelve miles from Padua, 
and about three miles on the right of the high road to Rovigo, in the bosom of the 
Euganean hills. After a walk of twenty minutes across a flat well-wooded meadow, 
you come to a httle blue lake, clear, but fathomless, and to the foot of a succession of 
acchvities and hills, clothed with vineyards and orchards, rich with fir and pome- 
granate trees, and eveiy sunny fruit shrub. From the banks of the lake the road 
winds into the hills, and the church of Arqua is soon seen between a cleft where two 
ridges slope towards each other, and nearly enclose the village. The houses are 
scattered at intervals on the steep sides of these summits ; and that of the poet is on 
the edge of a little knoll overlooking two descents, and commanding a view, not only 
of the glowing gardens in the dales immediately beneath, but of the wide plains, above 
whose low woods of mulberry and willow, thickened into a dark mass by festoons of 
vines, tall single cypresses, and the spires of towns, are seen in the distance, which 
stretches to the mouths of the Po and the shores of the Adriatic. The climate of 
these volcanic hills is warm.er, and the vintage begins a week sooner than in the 
plains of Padua. Petrarch is laid, for he cannot be taid to be buried, in a sarcopha- 
gus of red marble, raised on four pilasters on an elevated base, and preserved from 
an association with meaner tombs. It stands conspicuously alone, but will be soon 
overshadowed by four lately planted laurels. Petrarch's Fountain, for here every 
thing is Petrarch's, springs and expands itself beneath an artificial arch, a httle below 
the church, and abounds plentifully, in the driest season, with that soft water which 
was the ancient wealth of the Euganean hills. It would be more attractive, were 
it not, in some seasons, beset with hornets and wasps. No other coincidence could 
assimilate the tombs of Petrarch and Archilochus. The revolutions of centuries 
have spared these sequestered valleys, and the only violence which has been offered 
to the ashes of Petrarch was prompted, not by hate, but veneration. An attempt 
was made to rob the sarcophagus of its treasure, and one of the arms was stolen 
by a Florentine through a rent which is still visible. The injury is not forgotten, but 
has served to identify the poet with the country where he was born, but where he 
would not live. A peasant boy of Arqua being asked who Petrarch was, lephed, 
" that the people of the parsonage knew all about him, but that he only knew that 
he was a Florentine." 

Mr. Forsyth * was not quite correct in saying that Petrarch never returned to 
Tuscany after he had once quitted it when a boy. It appears he did pass through 
Florence on his way from Parma to Rome, and on his return in the year 1350, and 
remained there long enough to form some acquaintance with its most distinguished 
inhabitants. A Florentine gentleman, ashamed of t' e aversion of the poet for his 
native countiy, was eairer to point out this trivial error iti our accomplished traveller, 
whom he knew and respected for an extraordinary capacity, extensive erudition, and 
refined taste, joined to that engaging simplicity of manners which has been so fre- 
quently recognized as the surest, though it is certainly not an indispensable, trait cA 
superior genius. 

* Remarks, &c. on Italy, p. 95, note, 2d edit. 



CANTO THL FOURTH, 207 

Every footstep of Laura's lover has been anxiously traced and recorded. The 
house ill which he lodged is bhown in Vmice. The inhabitants of Arezzo, in order 
to decide th« ancient controversy between their city and the neighbouring Ancisa, 
wiiere Petrarch was carried when seven months old, and remaiutd «nlil liis seventh 
year, have designated by a long inscription the spot where their ^^reai illlow-ciiizen 
was born. A tablet has been raised to him at Parma, in the cliapel of fet. Agatha, 
at the cathedral,* because he was archdeacon of that society, and was only snatched 
frctn his intended sepulture in their church by &. foreign death. Another tablet with 
a bust, has been erected to him at Pavia, on account of his having passed ilie autumn 
ef 1368 in that city, with his son-in-law Brossano. The political condition which 
has for ages precluded the Italians from the criticism of the iivmg, has concentrated 
Uieir attention to the illustration of the dead. 



X. 

TASSO. 

" In face of all hisfoes^ the Cruscan quire; 
A.nd Boileau, whose rash envy" &c. 

Stanza xxxviii. lines 6 and 7, 



Perhaps the couplet in which Boileau depreciates Tasso, mai 
[ly other specimen to justify the opinion given of the harmony of ^ 



lay serve as well as 
any other specimen to justiiy tne opinion given oi tne narmony of French verse 

A Malerbe a Racan, prefere Theophile, 

Et le ciinijuanl du Tasse a tout I'c.r de Virgile. 

Sat. ix. vers. 176. 



The biograjvher Serassi,| out of tenderness to the repiitation either of tiie Italian 
or the French poet, is eager to observe that the satirist recanted or explained awiiv 
this censure, and subsequently allowed the author of the .Terusalttn to he a " geuii s, 
sublime, vast, and hap|>iiy born for the higher flights of poetry." To this we w\]' 
add, that ihe recnntation is far from saiiafaotory, when we examine the whole anec- 
dote jis rrporied by Olivet. | The sentence pronounced aiainat him by Hohourst 

* D. O. M. 
Francisco Petrarchaj 
Parmensi Archidiacono. 
Parentibus prsclaiis genere perantiquo 
Etnices Chiistianoe scriptori eximio 
Ronianae linguaj restitutorj 
Etrusca; priucipi 
Africa? ob carmen hac in urbe peractum regibus accito 
S. P. Q,. R. laurea donate. 
Tanti Viri 
Juvenilium juvenis senilium senex 
Studiosissimus 
Comes Nicolaus Canonicus Cicognarus 
Marmorea proxima ara excitata. 

Ibique condito 

Divae Januarise cruento corpor© 

H. M. P. 

Suffectum 

Sed infra meritum Francisci sepulchre 

Summa hac in aede efferri mandantis 

Si Parmae occumberet 

Extera morte heu nobis erepti. 

t La V^itf del Tasso, lib, iii. p. 284. torn. ii. edit. Bergamo, 1790. 
[ Histoirede 1' Academic Fran^oise. depuis 1652 jusqu'h 1 700, par 1' Abbe d'Otivet 
0. 181, edit. Amsterdam. 1730. " Mais, ensuite, venant ^ ['usage qu'il a fait de 



208 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

is recorded * only to the confusion of the critic, whose palinodia the Italian makes no 
effort to discover, and would not, perhaps, accept. As to the opposition which the 
Jerusalem encountered from the Cruscan academy, who degraded Tasso from al 
competition with Ariosto, below Bojardo and Pulci, the disgrace of such opposition 
must also in some measure be laio lO the charge of Alfonso, and the court of Ferrara. 
For Leonard Salviati, the principal and nearly the sole origin of this attack, was, 
there can be no doubt, "f influenced by a hope to acquire the favour of the House of 
Este : an object which he thought attainable by exalting the reputation of a native 
poet at the expense of a rival, then a pmoner 0/ sfa^e. The hopes and eiforts of 
Salviati must serve to show the contemporary opinion as to the nature of the poet's 
imprisonment; and will fill up the measure of our indignation at the tyrant jailer.;]. 
In fact, the antogonist of Tasso was not disappointed in the reception given to his 
criticism ; he was called to the court of F'errara, where, having endeavoured to 
neight.en his claims to favour, by panegyrics on the family of his sovereign, § he was 
in turn abandoned, and expired in neglected poverty. The opposition of the Cruscans 
was brought to a close in six years after the commencement of the controversy ; and 
if the academy owed its first renown to having almost opened with such a paradox, |j 
it is probable that, on the other hand, the care of his reputation alleviated rather than 
aggravated the imprisonment of the injured poet. The defence of his father and of 
himself, for both were involved in the censure of Salviati, found employment for many 
of his solitary hours, and the captive could have been but little embarrassed to reply 
to accusations, where, amongst other delinquencies, he was charged witn invidiously 
omitting, in his comparison between France and Italy, to make any mention of the 
cupola of St. Maria del Fiore at Florence. IF The late biographer of Ariosto seems 
as if willing to renew the controversy by doubting the interpretation of Tasso's self- 
estimation ** related in Serassi's life of the poet. But Tiraboschi had before laid that 
rivalry at rest, ft by showing, that between Ariosto and Tasso it is not a question of 
comparison, but of preference. 



ses talens, j'aurois mootre que le bon sens n'est pas toujours ce qui domine chez 
lui," p. 182. Boileau said he had not changed his opinion ; •' J'en ai si peu change, 
dit-il," ^c. p. 181. 

* La mani&re de bien penser dans les ouvrages de I'esprit, sec. dial. p. 89, edK 
1692. Philanthes is for Tasso, and says, in the outset, " de tous les beaux esprits 
que I'ltalie a portes, le Tasse est peut-Stre oelui qui pense le plus noblement." Bui 
Bohours seems to speak in Eudoxus, who closes with the absurd comparison : " Faites 
valoir le Tasse tant qu'il vous plaira, je m'en tiens pour raoi a Virgile," &c. Ibid, 
p. 102. 

t La Vita, &c. lib. iii. p. 90, torn. ii. The English reader may see an account 
of the opposition of the Crusca to Tasso, in Dr. Black, Life, &c. cap, xvii. vol. ii. 

I For further, and, it is hoped, decisive proof, that Tasso was neither more nor 
.ess than a prisoner of state, the reader is referred to " Historical Illustrations of the 
IVth Canto of Childe Harold," pag. 5. and following. 

§ Orazioni funebri . . . delle lodi di Don Luigi, Cardinal d'Este . . . dalle lodi di 
Donno Alfonso d'Este. See La Vha, lib. iii. p. 117. 

II It was rounded in 1582, and the Cruscan answer to Pellegrino's Carcyf/a, or eplca 
poesia, was published in 1584. 

U " Cotanto pot6 sempre in lui il veleno della sua pessima volonta contro alia na- 
zion Fiorentina." La Vita, lib, iii. pp. 96, 98. tom. ii. 

♦* La Vita di M. L. Ariosto, scritta dall' Abate Girolamo BarofFaldi Giun.. /-re, 
&c. Ferrara, 1807, lib. iii. p. 262. See Historical Illustrations, &c. p. 26. 

tt Storia de.la Lett. &c. lib. iii. tom. vii. par. iii. p. 1220, sect. 4. 



CANTO TH5 FOURTH. 209 

XL 

ARIOSTO. 

" The lightning rent from Ariostd's bust, 
The iron crown of laurels mimicked leaves" 

Stanza xli. lines 1 and 2. 

Before the remains of Ariosto were removed from the Benedictine church to the 
liorary of Ferrara, his bust, which surmounted the tomb, was struck by liclitninc and 
a orown of iron laurels melted away. The event has been recorded by a writer of the 
.ast century.* The transfer of these sacred ashes, on the 6th of June, 1801, was one 
of the most brilliant spectacles of the short-lived Italian llepublic ; and to consecrate 
the memory of the ceremony, the once famous fallen Intrepidi were revived and re- 
formed into the Ariostean academy. The large public place through which the pro- 
cession paraded was then for the first time called Ariosto Square. 'I'he author of the 
Orlando is jealously claimed as the Homer, not of Italy, but Ferrara. j The mother 
of Ariosto was of Reggio, and the house in which he was born is carefully distin- 
guished by a tablet with these words: " Qui nacque Ludovico Ariosto il giorno 8 di 
Settembre dell' anno 1474." But the Ferraiese make light of the accident by which 
their poet was born abroad, and claim him exclusively for tlieir own. They possess 
his bones, they show his arm-chair, and his inkstand, and his autogiaphs. 

". Hie illius arma 

Hie currus fuit " 

The house where he lived, the room Where he died, are designated by his own re • 
placed memorial,! and by a recent inscription. The Ferrarese are more jealous of 
their claims since the animosity of Denina, arising from a cause which their apolo- 
gists mysteriously hint is not unknown to them, ventured to degrade their soil and cli- 
mate to a Boeotian incapacity for all spiritual productions. A quarto volume has been 
called forth by the detraction, and this supplement to Barotti's Memoirs of the illustri- 
ous Ferrarese has been considered a triumphant reply to the " Q,uadro Storico Statis 
tico deir Alta Italia." 



XIT. 
ANCIENT SUPERSTITIONS RESPECTING LIGHTNING. 

*• Por the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves 
Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves.'^ 

Stanza xli. lines 4 and 5. 

The eagle, the sea calf, the laurel,^ and the white vine,|| were amongst the most 
approved preservatives against lightning: Jupiter chose the first, Augustus Caesar the 
second, II and Tiberius never failed to wear a wreath of the third v.'hen the sky threat- 

* " Mi raccontarono que' monaci, ch' essendo caduto uri fulmine nella loro chiesa 
schiantb esso dalle tempie la corona di lauro a quell' immortale poeta." Op. di Bian- 
coni, vol. iii. p. 176, ed. Milano, 1802 ; lettera al Signor Guido Savini Arcifisiocritico, 
Bull' indole di un fulmine caduto in Dresda I'anno 1759. 

t '•' Appassionata ammiratore ed invitto apologista dell' Omera Ferrarese." The 
title was first given by Tasso. and is quoted to the confusion of the Tassisti, lib. iii, 
pp. 262. 263 La Vita di M. L. Ariosto, &c. 

X " Parva sed apta mihi, sed nulli obnoxia. sed non 

Sordida, parta meo sed tamen a3re domus." 

§ Aquila, vitulus mannus, et laurus, fulmine non feriuntur. Plin. Nat. Hist, ab^ 
. cap. 66. 
U Columella, lib. x, H Sueton. in Vit, Aug ist. cap. >-,. 

18* 



210 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

ened a thunder-storm.* These superstitions may be received without a sneer in * 
country where the magical properties of the hazel twig have not, lost all their credit ; 
and perhaps the reade°r may not be much surprised to find that a commentator on 
Suetonius has taken upon himself gravely to disprove the imputed virtues ol the crown 
of Tiberius, by mentioning that a few years before he wrote a laurel was actually 
struck by hghtning at Kome.f 



XIII. 

• " Know that the lightning sanctifies below.''^ 

Stanza xli. line 8. 

The Curtian lake and the Ruminal fig-tree in the Forum, having been touched by 
liwhtnint', were held sacred, and the memory of the accident was preserved by a jmipai 
or altar'' resembling the mouth of a well, with a little chapel covering the cavity sup 
posed to be made by the thunderbolt Bodies scathed and persons struck dead were 
thought to be incorruptible \ | and a stroke not fatal conferred perpetual dignity upon 
the man so distinguished by heaven. § , . • j l 

Those killed by lightning were wrapped in a white garment, and buried where they 
fell. The superstition was not confined to the worshippers of Jupiter: the Lombards 
believed in the omens furnished by hghtning, and a Christian priest confesses that, by 
a diabolical skill m interpreting thunder, a seer foretold to Agilulf, duke of Turin, an 
event which came to pass, and gave him a queen and a crown. || There was, how- 
ever, something equivocal in this sign, which the ancient inhabitants of Rome did no 
alwaj'S conside'r propitious ; and as' the fears are likely to last longer than the conso- 
lations of superstition, it is not strange that the Romans of the age of Leo X. should 
have been so much terrified at some misinterpreted storms as to require the exhor- 
tations of a scholar, who arrayed all the learning on thunder and lightning to prove 
the omen favourable'; beginningvwith the flash which struck the walls of Velitra;, and 
including that which played upon a gate at Florence, and foretold the pontificate o 
one of its citizens.1T 



XIV. 

THE VENUS OF MEDICIS. 

" There, too, the Goddess loves in stoneV 

Stanza xlix. line I. 

The view of the Venus of Medicis instantly suggests the lines in the Seasons, ano, 
the comparison of the object with the description proves not only the correctness ol 
the portrait, but the peculiar turn of thought, and, if the term may be used, the sexua. 
nnagination of the descriptive poet. The same conclusion may be deduced fron 
another hint in the same episode of Musidora ; for Thouison's notion of the pnvi- 

* Sueton. in Vit Tiberii, cap. Ixix. t Note 2. p. 409. edit. Lugd. Bat. 1667. 

X Vid. J. C. BuUenger, de Terrae Motu et Fulminib. lib. v. cap. xi. 

§ 'Ou^Etf Kepavvo)6us urindg i(m, bQtv Koi (if ^eoj Tifidrai. Plut. Sympos. vid. .T 
C. Bulleng. ut sup. 

II Pauli Diaconi, de Gestis Langobard. lib. in. cap. xiv. fo. 15. edit. Taurin. 1527. 

IT I. P. Valeriani de fulminum significafionibus declamatio, ap. Grav. Antiq. 
Rom. tom. v. p. 593. The declamation is addressed to Julian of Meoicis. 



CANTO THE FOURTH, 211 

eges of favourel love must have been either very primitive, or rather deficient in 
delicacy, when he made his graleful nymph inform her discreet Damon that in soma 
happier moment he might, perhaps, be the companion oi her bath : — 

" The time may come you need not fly." 

The reader wiU recollect the anecdote told in the Life of Dr. Johnson. We will not 
leave the Florentine gallery without a word on the IVketter. It seems strange (hat 
the character of that dispiited statue should not be entirely decided, at least in the 
mind of any one who has seen a sarcophagus in the vestibule of the Basilica of St. 
Paul without the walls, at Rome, svheie ihe whole group of the fable ol'Marsyas is 
seen in tolerable preservation ; and the Scythian slave whetting the knife is repre- 
sented exactly in the same position as this ceiehrated masterpiece. The slave is not 
naked ; but it is easier to gel rid of this ditficulty than to suj)pose the knife in the 
hand of the Florenime statue an iristnitnent for shaving, which it must be, if, as 
Lauzi supposes, the man is nooihor than the barber of Julius Casar. Winkelmann, 
illustrating a bas relief of the same subject, follows the oj)inion of Leonard Agostini, 
and his authority might have been thought conclusive, even if the resemblance did 
not strike the most careless observer.* 

Amongst the bronzes of the same princely collection is still to be seen the inscribed 
tablet copied and commented upon by Mr Gibbon. f Our historian found some diffi- 
culties, but did not desist from his illustration: he might be vexed to hear that his 
criticism has been thrown away on an inscription now generally recognised to be a 
ibrgery. 



XV. 

MADAME DE STAEL. 

" In Santa Croce^s holy precincts lie,^' 

Stanza liv. line 1. 

This name will recall the memory, not only of those whose tombs have raised the 
Santa Croce into the centre of pilgrimage, the Mecca of Italy, but of her whose 
eloquence was poured over the illustrious ashes, and whose voice is now as mufe as 
those she sung. Corinna is no more ; and with her should expire the fear, the 
flattery, and the envy, which threw too dazzling or too dark a cloud round the march 
of genius, and forbad the steady gaze of disinterested criticism. We have her 
picture embellished or distorted, as friendship or detraction has held the pencil: the 
impartial portrait was haidly to be expected from a contemporary. The immediate 
voice of her survivors will, it is probable, be far from alfording a just estimate of Her 
singular capacity. The gallantry, the love of wonder, and the hope of associatpa 
fame, which blunted the edge of censure, must cease to exist. — The dead have no 
sex ; they can surjjrise by no new miracles ; they can confer no privilege : Corinna 
has ceased to be a woman — she is only an author : and it may be foreseen that many 
will repay themselves for former complaisance, by a severitj'' to which the extrava- 
gance of previous praises may perhaps give the colour of truth. The latest posteiitv. 
for to the latest posterity they will assuredly descend, will have to pronounce up(jn her 
various productions ; and the longer the vista through which they aie seen, the m- re ac- 
curately mniiite will be the object, the more certain the justice, of the decision. She 
will enter into that existence in which the great writers of all a<;es andnafions aie as it 
were, associated in a world of their own, and, from that superior sphere, shed their e er- 
nal inrtuence for the control and consolation of mankind. But the individual will 
gradually disappear as the author is more distinctly seen : some one, therefore, of ail 
those whom the charms of involuntary wit, and of easy hospitality, attracted within 



* See Monim. Ant. Ined. par. i. cap. xvii. n. .\lii. pag. 50 and Storia delli Arti, 
fcc. lib. xi. cap. i. tom. ii. pag. 314. not. B. 
t Nomina gentesque Antiquse Italise, p. 204, edit, oct. 



212 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

•he friendly circles of Coppet, should rescue from oblivion those virtues which, al- 
though they are said to love the shade, are, in fact, more frequently chilled than ex- 
cited by the domestic cares of private life. Some one should be found to portray ihe 
unaffected graces with which she adorned those dearer relationships, the perform- 
ance of whose duties is rather discovered amongst the interior secrets, thaii seen in 
the outward management, of family intercourse ; and which, indeed, it requires the 
delicacy of genuine affection to qualify for the eye of an indifferent spectator. Sume 
one should be found, not to celebrate, bat to describe, the amiable mistress of an 
open mansion, the centre of a society, ever varied, and always pleased, the creat,or of 
which, divested of the ambition and the arts of public rivalry, shone forth only to give 
fresh animation to those around her. The mother tenderly affectionate and tenderly 
beloved, the friend unboundedly generous, but still esteemed, the charitable patroness 
of all distress, cannot be forgotten by those whom she cherished, and protected, and 
ed. Her loss will be moutned the most where she was known the best ; and, to the 
sorrows of very many friends and more dependants, may be offered the disinterested 
regret of a stranger, who, amidst the sublimer scenes of the Leman lake, received his 
chief satisfaction from contemplating the engaging qualities of the incompaiable 
Corinna. 



XVI. 
ALFIERI. 



*• Here repose 
Angeki'a, AlfierVa bones." 

Stanza liv. hnes 6 and 7. 

Alfieri is the great name of this age. The Italians, without waiting for the hun- 
dred years, consider him as " a poet good in law," — His memory is the more dear 
to them because he is ihe bard of^ freedom ; and because, as such, his trairedies can 
receive no countenance from any of their sovereigns. They are but veTy seldom, 
and but very few of them, allowed to be acted. It was observed by Cicero, that 
nowhere were the true opinions and feelings of the Romans so clearly shown as at 
the theatre.* In the autumn of 1816, a celebrated improvisatore e>;hibitcd his talents 
at the Opera-house of Milan. The reading of the theses handed in for the subjects of his 
poetry was received by a very numerous audience, for the most part in silence, or 
with laughter ; but when the assistant, unfolding one of the papers, exclaimed, " Tht 
apotheosis of Victor Alfieri," the whole theatre burst into a shout, and the applause 
was continued for some moments. The lot did not fall on Alfieri ; and the Signer 
Sgricci had to pour forth his extemporary common-places on the bombardment of 
Algiers. The choice, indeed, is not left to accident quite so much as might be 
thought from a fiist view of the ceremony ; and the police not only takes care to look 
at the papers beforehand, but in case of any prudential afterthought, steps in to cor- 
rect the blindness of chance. The proposal for deifying Alfieri was received with 
immediate enthusiasm, the rather because it was conjectured there would bs nc 
opportunity of carrying it into effect. 



♦ The free expression of their honest sentiments survived their liberties. Tifius, 
the iriend of Antony, presented them with games in the theatre of Pompey, They 
dio not suffer the brilliancy of the spectacle to efface from their memory that the man 
who furnished them with the entertainment had murdered the son of Pompey : they 
drove him from the theatre with curses. The moral sense of a populace, spontani;. 
ously expressed, is never wrong. Even the soldiers of the triumvirs joined in the 
execration of the citizens, by shouting round the chariots of Lepidus and Plancus 
who had proscribed their brothers, De Germanis nan de Gallis duo triumphant Con- 
vules; a saying worth a record, were it noihing but a good pun. [C, Veil. Patercuh 
Hist. lib. ii. cap. Ixxix. pag. 78, edit. Elzevir. 1639, Ibid. lib. ii. cap. Ixxvii.J 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 21^ 

XVII. 
MACHIAVPiLLI. 

** Hire MachiavellVs earth returned to whence it rose.*' 

Stanza liv. line 9. 

The affectation of simplicity in sepulchral inscriptions, which so often leaves us 
uncertain whether the structure before us is an actual depository, or a cenotaph, or a 
Bimpie memorial njt of death but life, has given to the tomb of Machiavelli no infor- 
mation as to the place or time of the birth or death, the age or parentage, of the 
historian. 

TANTO NOMINl NVLLVM PAR ELOGIVM 
NICCOLAVS MACHIAVELLI. 

There seems at least no reason why the name should not have been put above the 
sentence which alludes to it. 

It will readilv be imaijined that the prejudices which have passed the name of 
Machiavclh into an epithet proverbial of inujuity exist no longer at Florence. His 
nieinury was persecuted as his life had been for an a tachment to liberty incompa- 
tible wiih the new system of despotism, which succeeded the fall of the free govern- 
ments of Italy. He was put to the torture for being a " libertine,^' that is, for wishing 
to restore the republic of Florence ; and such are the undying efforts of those who 
are interested in the perversion not only of the nature of actions, but the meaning of 
words, that what was once patriotism, has by degrees come to signify debauch. We 
have ourselves outhved the old meaning of " liberality," which is now another word 
for treason in one country and for infatuation in all. It seems to have been a strange 
mistake to accuse the author of " The Prince," as being a pander to tyranny ; and to 
think that the Inquisition would condemn his vvork for such a delinquency. The fact 
is, that Ma ;Iiiaveili, as is usual with those against whom no crime can be proved, was 
suspected of and charged with atheism ; and the first and last most violent opposers 
of '' The Prince " were both Jesuits, one of whom persuaded the inquisition " benche 
fosse tardo," to prohibit the treatise, and the other qualified the secretary of the 
Florentine republic as no better than a fool. The father Possevm was proved never 
to have read the book, and the father Lucchesini not to have understood it. It is 
clear, however, that such critics must have objected not to the slavery of the doc- 
trines, but to the supposed tendency of a lesson which shows how distinct are the 
interests of a monarch from the happiness of mankind. The Jesuits are re-esta- 
blished in Italy, and ihe lastchapter of " The Prince" may again call forth a particular 
refutation, from those who are employed once more in moulding the minds of the ris- 
ing generation, so as to receive the impressions of despotism. The c!ia()ter bears for 
title, " Esortazione a liberare la Italia dai Barban," and concludes with a libertine 
excitement to the future redemption of Italy. " Non si deve adunque lasciar pas- 
sare questa occasione, acciocche la ItaUa vegga dopo tanto tempo apparire un suo 
redentore. Ne posso esprimere con qua! amore ei fusse ricevuto in tutte quelle pro- 
vincie, che hanno patito per queste illuvioni esterne, con qual sete di vendetta, con 
che osfinata fede, con che larrime. Q,uali porte se li serrcrebeno '' Gluali popoli li 
negherebbonolaobbedienza? duale Italiano U negherebbe I'ossequio? ad ognuno 

PUZZA QUESTO BAKBARO DOMJNIO."* 

* II Principe di Niccolb Machiavelli, &c. con la prefazione e le note istoriche e 
politiche di M. Amelot de la Houssaye e I' esame e confutazione dcil' opera .... 
(Mosaic poll, 1769. 



214 HISTORICAL KOTES TO 

XVIII. 

DANTE. 

" Ungrateful Florence I Dante sleeps afar.^* 

Stanza Ivii. line 1. 

Dante was born in Florence in the year 1261. He fought in two battles, was 
fourteen times ambassador, and once prior of the republic. When the party cf 
Charles of Anjou triumphed over the Bianchi, he was absent on an embassy to Pope 
Boniface VIII., and was condemned to two years' banishment, and to a fini' i>f 8000 
ire ; on the non-payment of which he was further punished by the sequestialion of 
all his property. The republic, however, was not content with this saiisfaci (...•;, for 
n 1772 was discovered in the archives at Florence a sentence in which Dante is the 
eleventh of a list of fifteen condemned in 1S02 to be burnt alive ; Talis per veniens 
gne comburatur sic quod moriatur . The pretexlfor this judgment was a piooi ofiiuiair 
carter, extortions, and illicit gains. JSaracteriarum iniquarum, extorsionum, tt iilirif- 
oTum lucrorum* and with such an accusation it is not strange that Dante sLould 
have always protested his innocence, and the injustice of his fellow-citizens. His 
appeal to Florence was accompanied by another to the Emperor Henry ; and ilie 
death of that sovereign in 1313, was the signal for a sentence of irrevocable banish- 
ment. He had before lingered near Tuscany with hopes of recall ; then travelled 
into the north of Italy, where Verona had to boast of his longest residence ; and he 
finally settled at Ravenna, which was his ordinary but not constant abode until his 
death. The refusal ol the Venetians to grant him a public audience, on the p vrt of 
Guido Novello da Polenta, his protector, is said to have been the principal cause of 
this event, which happened in 1321. He was buried (" in sacra minorum sede") at 
Ravenna, in a handsome tomb, which was erected by Guido, restored by Bernardo 
Benibo in 1483, praetor for that republic which had refused to hear him, a^ain restored 
by Cardinal Corsi in 1692, and replaced by a more magnificent sepulchre, constructed 
in 1780 at the expense of the Cardinal Luigi Valenti Gonzaga. The ofence d» 
misfortune of Dante was an attachment to a defeated party, and, as his least favour- 
able biographers allege against him, loo great a freedom of speech and haui;htiness of 
manner. But the next age paid honours almost divine to the exile. The Floren- 
tines, having in vain and frequently attempted to recover his body, crowned his image 
in a church,! and his picture is still one of the idols of their cathedral. They struck 
medals, they raised statues to him. The cities of Italy, not being able to dispute 
about his own birth, contended for that of his great poem, and the Florentines thought 
it for their honour to prove that he had finished the seventh Canto before they drove 
him from his native city. Fifty-one years after his death, they endowed a profes- 
sorial chair for the expounding of his verses, and Boccaccio was appointed to this 
patriotic employment. The example was imitated by Bologna and Pisa, and the 
commentators, if they performed but little service to literature, augmented the vene- 
ration which beheld a sacred or moral allegory in all the images of his mystic muse. 
His birth and his infancy were discovered to have been distinguished above those of 
ordinary men : the author of the Decameron, his earliest biographer, relates that his 
mother was warned in a dream of the importance of her pregnancy : and it was found, 
by others, that at ten years of age he had man«fested his precocious passion for that 
wisdom or theology, which, under the name of Beatrice, had been mistaken for a 
substantial mistress. When the Divine Comedy had been recognised as a mere 
mortal production, and at the distance of two centuries, when ciiticism and competi- 
tion had soberf d the judgment of the Italians, Dante was seriously declared superior to 
liomer ; J and though the preference appeared to some casuists " an heretical blas- 
phemy worthy of the flames," the contest was vigorously maintained for neaiiv fifty 
years. In later times it was made a question which of the Lords of Verona could 



* Storia della Lett. Ital. torn. v. lib. iii. par. 2. p. 448. Tiraboschi is incorrect 
ths dates of the three decrees against Dante are A. D. 1302, 1314, and 1316. 

"t So relates Ficino, but some think his coronation only an allegory. See Storia 
&c. ut sup. p. 453. 

J By Varchi, in his Ercolano. The controversy continued from 1670 to 161b 
Se« Stona, &c. torn. vii. lib iii. par. iii. p. 1280. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 216 

beast of having patronized him,* and the jealous scepticism of one wntcr would not 
allow Ravenna the undoubted possession of his bones. Even the critical Tiraboschi 
was inclined to believe that the poet had foreseen and foretold one of the discoveries 
of Galileo,— Like the great originals of other nations, his popularity has not always 
maintained the same level. The last age seemed inchned to undervalue him as a 
model and a study ; and BettinelU one day rebuked his pupil Monti, for poring over 
the harsh and obsolete extravagances of the Commedia. The present generation, 
havin<J recovjred from the Gallic idolatries of Cesarotti, has returned to the ancieiu 
worship, and the Danteggiare of the northern Italians is thought even indiscreet bv 
the more moderate Tuscans. . 

There is still much curious information relative to the life and writings ot this groat 
Doet which has not as yet been collected even by the Italians ; but the celehraled 
iJao'Foscnlo meditates to supply this defect, and it is not to be regretted that this 
national ^rork has been reserved for one so devoted to h'<5 country and the cause ot 
truth. 



XIX. 

TOMB OF THE SCIPIOS. 

« Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ,' 
Thyfactionx, in their worse than civil war, 
Proscribed" &c. 

Stanza Ivii. lines 2, 3, and 4. 

The elder Scipio Africanus had a tomb if he was not buried at Liternum, whither 
he had retired lo voluntary banishment. This tomb was near the sea-shore, and 
the story of an inscription upon it, Ingrata Patria, having given a name to a modern 
tower, is, if not true, an agreeable fiction. If he was not buried, he certainly lived 
there.t 

In cosl angusta e solitaria villa 

Era '1 grand' uomo che d' Africa s'appella 

Perchfe prima col ferro al vivo aprilla. | 

Ingratitude is generally supposed the vice peculiar to republics ; and it seems to be 
for>Totten that for one instance of popular inconstancy, we have a hundred examples of 
the" fill of courtly favourites. Besides, a people have often repented— a monarch 
seldom or never. Leaving apart ma. ly familiar proofs of this fact, a short story may 
show the difference between even an at istocracy and the multitude. 

VettorPisani, having been defeated in 1354 at Portolongo, and many years after- 
wards in the more decisive action of Pola, by the Genoese, was recalled by the 
Venetian government, and thrown into chains. The Awogadori proposed to behead 
him but the supreme tribunal was content with the sentence of imprisonment. Whilst 
Pisani was suffering this unmerited disgrace, Chioza, in the vicinity of the capital, § 
was by the assistance of the Signor of Padua, dehvered into the hands of Pietro 
Doria. At the mtelligence of that disaster, the great bell of St. Mark's tower tolled 
to arms, and the people and the soldiery of the galleys were summoned to the repulse 
of the approaching enemy; but they protested they would not move a step, unless 
Pisani were liberated and placed at their head. The great council was instantly as- 
s?inbled , the prisoner was called before thera, and the Doge, Andrea Contarmi, in- 
formed him of the demands of the people and he necessities of the state, whose only 
hope of safety was reposed on his efforts, and who implored him t<} forget the indig- 
nities he had endured in her service. " I have submitted," replied the niagnanmious 
republican, " I have submitted to your deliberations without complaint ; I have sup- 
ported patiently the pains of imprisonment, for they were inflicted at your command : 



* Gio. .Tacopo Dionisi Canomco di Verona. Serie di Aneddoti, n. 2. Sec Storia 
&c. torn. V. lib. i. par. i. p. 24. 

1 VitamLiterni egit sine dcsiderio urbis. See T. Liv. Hist. lib. xxxviii. Livv 
reports that some said he was buried at Liternum, others at Rome. Tb. cap. Iv. 

1 'I'rionfo della Castita. § See note 6, page 201 



216 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

tnis IS no time to inquire whether I deserved them — the good of the repubhc may 
have seemed to require it, and that which the republic resolves is always resolve^ 
wisely. Behold me ready to lay dow n my lite for the preservation of my country.' 
Pisani was appointed generalissimo, and by his exertions, in conjunction with those 
ofCailoZeno, the Venetians soon recovered the ascendency over their maritime 
rivals. 

The Italian communities were no less unjust to their citizens than the Greek re- 
publics. Liberty, both with the one and the other, seems to have been a national, 
not an individual object : and, notwithstanding the boasted equality before the laws, 
which an ancient Greek writer* considered the great distinctive mark between hjs 
countrymen and the barbarians, the mutual rights of fellow-citizens sc?m never tc 
have been the principal scope of the old democracies. The world may have not vet 
seen an essay by the author of the Italian Republics, in which the distinction betweec 
the liberty of former states, and the signification attached to that wora by the happier 
constitution of England, is ingeniously developed. The Italians, however, when the', 
had ceased to be free, still looked back with a sigh upon those times of turbulence 
when every citizen might rise to a share of sovereign power, and have never beer 
'.aught fully to appreciate the repose of a monarchy. Sperone Speroni, when Francia 
Maria II. Duke of Rovete proposed the question, " which was preferable, there- 
public or the principality — the perfect and not durable, or the less perfect and not so 
liable to change," replied, '' that our happiness is to be measured by its quality, not 
by its duration ; and that he preferred to live for one day like a man, than for a hundre>4 
years like a brute, a stock, or a stone." This was thought, and called, a Tno^n;"' 
ficent answer, down to the last days of Italian servitude.! 



XX. 

PETRARCH'S CROWN. 

" j4nd the crown 
Which Petrarch^s laureate hroru supiemely wore 
Upon afar and foreign noil had grown." 

Stanza Ivii. lines 6,. 7, and 8. 

The Florentines did not take the opportunity of Petrarch's short visit to their city 
in 1350 to revoke the decree which confiscated the property of his father, who had 
been banished shortly after the exile of Dante, His crown did not dazzle them ; but 
when in the next year they were in want of his assi.'^tance m ihe formation of their 
university, they repented of their injustice, and Boccaccio was sent to Padua to en- 
treat fhe laureate to conclude his wanderings in ihe bnsom of his native country 
where he might finish his immortal Africa, and enjoy, with his recovered possessions 
the esteem of all classes of his fellow-citizens. They gave him the option of the book 
and the science he might condescend to expound : they called him the glorv of his 
country, who was dear, and would be dearer to them ; and they added, tliatif there 
was any thins unpleasins in their letter, he ought to return among them, were it only 
to cor'-ect their style. J Petrarch seemed at first to listen to the flattery and to the 
entreaties of his friend, but he did not return to Florence, and preferred a pilgrimage 
to the tomb of Laura and ihe shades of Vaucluse. 

* The Greek boasted that he was laovdfio^. See the last chapter of the first oook 
of Dionysius of Hali'-arnassus. 

t " E intorno alia mugnifica risposta," &c. Serassi, Vita del Tasso, lib. iii. 
pag. 149. torn. ii. edit. 2. Bergamo. 

I " Accingiti innoltre. se ci e lecito ancor 1' esortarti. a ccmpire 1' immortal tua 
Africa . . . Seti avviene d' incontrare nel nostro stile cosa che t> dis[)iaccia. cif> d-.-bb' 
jssere un altro motivo ad esaudire i desideij della tua patna." Storia delta Lett, 
Ital. tom. V. par. i. lib. i. pag. 76. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 211 

XXL 

BOCCACCIO. 

" Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeathed 
His dust." 

Stanza iviii. lines 1 and 2. 

Boccaccio was buiied in the church of St. Michael and St. James, at Certaldo, a 
small town in the Valdelsa, which was by some supposed the place oi his birth. There 
he passed the latter part of his life in a course of laborious study, which shortened his 
existence ; and there might his ashes have been secure, if not of honour, at least of re- 
pose. But the ' hyaena bigots" of Certaldo tore up the tombstone of Boccaccio, 
and ejected it from the holy precincts of St. Michael and St. James. The occasion, 
and, It may be hoped, the excuse, of this ejectment was the making of a new Hoor for 
the chuich ; but the fact is, that the tombstone was taken up and thrown aside at the 
bottom of the building. Ignorance may share the sin with bigotry. It would be [)aia- 
ful to relate such an exception to the devotion of the Italians for their great names, 
could it not be accompanied by a trait more honourably conformable to the genci al 
character of the nation. The principal person of the district, the last branch of the 
house of Medicis, afforded that protection to the memory of the insulted dead which 
her best ancestors had ;hspensed upon all contemporary merit. The Marchi(miss 
Lenzoni rescued the tombstone of Boccaccio from the neglect in which it had some 
time lain, and found for it an honourable elevalio ; in her own mansion. She has done 
more : the house in which the poet lived has been as little respected as his tomb, and 
is falling to ruin over the head of one indifferent to the name of its former tenant. It 
consists of two or three little chambers, and a low tower, on which Cosmo II. affixed 
an inscription. This house she has taken measures to purchase, and proposes to de- 
vote to it that care and consideration which are attached to the cradle and to the roof 
of genius. 

This is not the place to undertake the defence of Boccaccio ; but the man who ex- 
hausted ois little patrimony in the acquirement of learning, who was amongst the first, 
if not the first, to allure the science and the |)oetry of Greece to ihe bosom of I-aly ; 
— who not only invented a new style, but founded, or certainly fixed, a new lan- 
guage ; who, besides the esteem of every polite court of Europe, was thought worthy 
of employment by the piedominant lepubhc of his own country, and, what is more, of 
the friendship of Petrarch, who lived the life of a philosopher, and a freeman, and who 
died in the pursuit of knowledge, — such a man might have found more consideiaiion 
than he has met with from the priest of Certaldo, and from a late English traveller, 
who strikes off his portrait as an odious, contemptible, licentious writer, whose im;)ure 
remains should be suffered to rot without a record.* That Enijlish traveller, unfor- 
tunately for those who have to deplore the loss of a very amiable person, is ijeyond 
all criticism ; but the mortality which did not protect Boccaccio from Mr. Eustace, 
must not defend Mr. Eustace from the impartial judgment of his successors. — 
Death may canonize his virtues, not his errors ; and it may be modestly pronounced 
that he transgressed, not only as an author, but as a man when he evoked the shade 
of Boccaccio in company with that of Aretine, amidst the sepulchres of Santa Croce, 
merely to dismiss it with indignity. As far as respects 



* Classical Tour, cap. ix. vol. ii. p. 355. edit. 3d. " Of Boccaccio, the modern 
Petronius, we say nothing ; the abuse of genius is more odious and more contempt- 
ible than its absence ; and it imports little where the impure remains of a licentious 
author are consigned to their kindred dust. For the same reason the traveller may 
pass unnoticed the tomb of the malignant Aretino." This dubious phrase is hardly 
enough to save the tourist from the suspicion of another blunder respecting the 
burial-place of Aretine, whose tomb was in the church of St. Luke at Venice, and 
gave rise to the famo'.is controversy of which some notice is taken in Bayle. Now 
the words of Mr. Eustace would lead us to think the tomb was at Florence, or at least 
was to be somewhere recognised. Whether the inscription so much disputed was 
ever written on the tomb cannot now be decided, for all memorial of this author lias 
disappeared from the church of St. Luke. 



2iS HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

" II flagello de' Prmcipi, 
II divin Pieiio Areiino," 

It is of little import what censure is passed upon a coxcomb who owes his present 

existence to t/ie above burlesque character civen to him by the poet, whose amber 
has preserved many other grubs and worms : but to classify Boccaccio with such a 
person, and to excommunicate his very ashes, must of itself make us doubt of the 
qualillcation of the classical tourist for writing upon Italian, or, indeed, upon any 
other literature ; lor ignorance on one point may iucapaciiate an author merely for 
ihat particular topic, but subjection to a professiunal prejudice must render him an 
vinsafo director on all occasions. Any perversion and injustice may be made what is 
vulgarly called '' a case of conscience," and this poor excuse is all that can be offer- 
ed for the piiest ofCertaldo, or the author of the Classical Tour. It would have 
answered the purpose to confine the censure to the novels of Boccaccio, and gratitude 
to that source which .supplied the muse of Dryden with her last and most harmonious 
numbers might, perhaps, have restricted that censiue to the objectionable qualities of 
the hundred tales. At any rate the repentance of Boccaccio might have arrested his 
exhumation, and it should have been recollected and told, that in his old age he wrote a 
letter entreating his friend to discourage the reading of the Decameron, for the sake 
of modesty, and for the sake of the author, who would not have an apologist always at 
hand to state in his excuse that he wrote it when young, and at the command of his 
superiors.* It is neither the licentiousness of the writer, nor the evil propensities of 
the reader, which have given to the Decameron alone, of all the works of Boccaccio, 
a perpetual popularity. The estabhshmen". of a new and delightful dialect conlerred 
an imiTiijrtality on the works in which it was first fixed. The sonnets of Petrarch 
were, for the same reason, fated to survive his self-admired Africa, the '■^favourite of 
kings.'^ The invariable .trails of nature and feeling with which the novels, as well as 
the verses, abound, have doubtless been the chief source of the foreign celebrity of 
Doth authors ; but Boccaccio, as a man, is no more to be estimated by that work, 
than Pttrarch is to be regarded in no other lijiht than as the lover of Laura. Even 
however, had the father of the Tuscan prose been known only as the author of the 
Decameron, a considerate writer would h ve been cautious to pionounce a sentence 
irreconcilable with the unerring voice of many ages and nations. An irrevocable 
value has never been stamped upon any work solely recommended by impurity. 

The true source of thf outciy against Eoccaccic, which began at a very early 
period, was the choice of his scandalous pcrsonaiies in the cloisters as well as the 
courts; but the piiuces only laughed at the gallant advenuires so unjustly charged 
upon queen ThefKlelinda, vi l;i!st the priesthood cried fhame uj)on the debauches 
drawn from ihe convent and the hermitage ; and most probably for the opposite rea- 
son, namely, that the jjicture was faiihful to the life. Two of the novels are allowed 
to be facts usefully turned into tales, to deride the canonisation of rogues and laymen. 
Ser Ciappelletto and Marcellinus are cited with applause even by ihe decent Mura- 
tori.f The great Arnaud. as he is (]Uoted in Bayle. states, that a new edition of the 
novels was proposed, of which the expur^jaiion consisted in omitting the words 
" monk" and "nun," and tacking the immotalities toother names. The literary 
history ofltaly paiticulaiizes no sucli ediiion ; but it was not long before the whole 
of Eur(>|)e had hut one opinion of the Decameron ; and the absolution of the author 
seems lo have been a pom' settled at least a hiuidred years ago : " On se feroit 
sifTler si I'on pretendoit convaincre Boccace de n'avoir pas etc honnete homme, puis 
qu'il a i'ait le Decameron." So said one of the best men, and perhaps the best crhic, 
that ever lived — the very manyr to ini[iartiality.J But as this information, that in 
the beginning of ilie last ceniurv one would have been hooted at for pretending that 
Boccaccio was not a good man. may seem to come fiom one of those enemies who 
are to be suspected, even when they moke us a present of truth, a more acceptable 



* " Non enim ubique est, qui in excusationem meam consurgens dicat, juvenis 
.rripsit. et majoris coactus imperio." The letter was addressed to Maghinard of 
.Javalcanii. marshal of the kingdom of Sicily. See Tiraboschi, Storia, &c. torn. v. 
|ar. ii. lib. iii. pag. 525. ed Ven. 1795. 

t Dissertazioni soprale Antichita Italiane, Diss. Iviii. p. 25S. torn. iii. edit. Milan, 
1751. 

i Eclair cissement, &c. &c, p. 638. edit Basle. 1741 , in the Supplement to Bayle'a 
Dicliiiiiar^' 



CANTO THE FOUJiTH. 219 

contrast with the proscription of the body, soul, and muse of Boccaccio may be found 
ui a few words from the virtuous, the patnulic contemporary, who ihjught one of ihe 
tales of this impute writer vvorthy a Laiin version from his own pen. '" I have re- 
marked elsev/her«i," says Petraich, writing to Boccaccio, " thai ilie book itself has 
been w jrned by certain dogs, but stoutly defended by your slati' and voice. Nor 
was I astonished, for 1 have had proof of tiie vigour uf your mind, and I know you 
have filien on tliai unaccommodaimg incapable race ol mortal-, who, whatever they 
either like not, or know not, or cannot do. are sure to repiehend in others ; and on 
those occasions only put on a show of learning and eloquence, but otherwise are en- 
tirely dumb."* 

It is satisfactory to find that all the priesthood do not resemble those of Certaldo, 
and that one of them who did not possess the bones ot Boccaccio would not lose the 
opportunity of raising a cenotaph to his memory. Bevius, canon of Padua, at the be- 
ginning of the sixteenth century, erecied at Aiqua, opposite to the tomb of the 
Laureate, a tablet, m which he associated Boccaccio to the equal iionours of Dante 
and of Petrarch, 



XXII. 
THE MEDICI. 



" fVTiat is her pyramid of precious stones ? " 

Stanza Ix. line 1. 

Our veneration for the Medici begins wiih Cosmo and expires with lus grandson; 
that stream is pure only at the source ; and it is in search of some memorial of the 
virtuous republicans of the family that we vi-;it the chinch of St. Lorenio at Florence. 
The tawdry, glaring, unfinished chapel in that church, designed for the mausoleum of 
the Dukes of Tuscany, set round with crowns and coffins, gives birih to no emotions 
but those of contempt for the lavish vanity of a race of de.s|)o;s, whilst the pavemeni 
slab, si:nply inscribed to the Father of his Country, reconciles us to liie name of 
Medici. I It was very natural {or Corinna J to suppose thai the statue raised !o the 
Duke of Urbiiio in the capella de^ depositi was intended for his great namesake ; but 
the uiagnific nt Lorenzo is only the sharer of a coffin half hidden in a niche of the 
sacristy. The decay of Tuscany dates from the sovereignty of the Medici. Of the 
sepulchral peace which succeeded to the establishment of the reigning families in 
Italy, our own Sidney has given us a glowing, but a faithful picture. " Notwith- 
standing all the seditions of Florence, and other cities of Tuscany, the horrid factions 
of Guelphs and Ghibelins, Neri and Bianchi, nobles and commons, they continued 
populous, strong, and exceeding rich ; but in the space of less than a hundred and fifty 
years, the peaceable reign of the Medices is thought to have destroyed nine parts in 
ten of the people of that province. Among other things, it is remarkable, that when 
Philip the Second of Spain gave Sienna to the Duke of Florence, his embassador 
then at Rome sent him word, that he had given away more than 650,000 subjects ; 
and It is not believed there are now 20,000 souls inhabiting that city and territory. 
Pisa, Pisioia, Atezzo, Cortona, and other towns, that were then good and populous, 
are in the like proportion diminished, and Florence more than any. When that city 
had been long troubled with seditions, tumults, and wars, for the most part unpros- 
perous, they still retained such strength, that when Charles VIIL of France, being 

* " Animadverti alicubi hbrum ipsum canum denttbus lacessitum, tuo tamen 
baculo egieiiiP tuaque voce defensam. Nee miratus sum : nam et vires ingenii tui 
novi, et scio expertus esses hominum genus insolens et ignavum. qui quicquid ipsi ve 
nolunt vel nesciunt, vel non possunt, in aliis reprehendimt ; ad hoc unum ducii et 
arguti, sed elingues ad reliqua." Epist. Joan. Boccatio, 0pp. torn. i. p. 540. edit 
Basii. 

I Cosmos Medices, Decreto Publico, Pater Patriae. 

t C*-inne, hv xviii. chap, iii. vol. iii. page 248. 



220 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

admitted as a friend with his whole army, which soon after conquered the kmErdora 
of Naples, thought to master tiiem, the people, taking arms, struck such a terror inio 
him, that lie was glad to depart upon such conditions as they thought fit to impose. 
Machiave! reports, that in that tmie Florence alone, with the Vdl d'Arno, a Miiall 
territoiy helon^ing to that city, could, in a few hours, hy the sound of a bell, biuig 
together 135,000 well-armed men; whereas now that city, with ail tlie otheis in that 
province, are brought to such despicable weakness, emptiness, poverty, and bascnes.-;, 
they can neither resist the oppressions of their own prince, nor defend him or them- 
selves if they were assaulted by a foreign enemy. The people are disperstjil or de- 
stroyed, and the best families sent to seek habitations in Venice, Genoa. Rome, 
Naples, and Lucca. This is not the effect of war or |)estilence : they enjoy a periect 
peace, and sufl'er no other plague than the government tliey aie under."* From the 
usurper Cosmo down to the imbecile Gaston, we iook in vain for any of those unmixed 
qualities which should raise a patriot to the command of his feljow-ciiizens. The 
Grand Dukes, and particularly the third Cosmo, had operated so entire a c{iai;;.e in 
the Tuscan character, that the candid Florentines, in excuse for some imperfections 
in the philanthropic system of Leopold, are obliged to confess that the sovereign was 
the only liberal man in his dominions. Yet that excellent prince himself had no other 
notion of a national assembly, than of a body to represent the wants and wishes not 
♦he will, of the people. 



XXIII. 

BATTLE OF THRASIMENK 

« An earthquake reePd unheededly away." 

Stanza Ixiii. line 5. 

'* And such was their mutual animosity, so intent were they upon the battle, that 
ihe earthquake, which overthrew in great part many of the cities of Italy, which 
turned the course of rapid streams, poured back the sea upon the rivers, and tore 
down the very mountains, was not felt by one of the combatants."! Such is the 
description of Livy. It may be doubted whether modern tactics would admit of such 
an abstraction. 

The site of the battle of Thrasimene is not to be mistaken. The traveller from 
the village under Coitona to Casa di Piano, the ne.xt stage on the way to Rome, has 
for the first two or three miles, around him, but more particularly to the iii;ht, that 
flat land which Hannibal laid waste in order to induce the Consul Flaminius to move 
from Arezzo. On his left, and in front of him, is a ridge of hills bending down towards 
the lake of Thrasimene, called by Livy '' montes Coitonenses," and now named the 
Gualandra. These hills he approaches at Ossaja, a village which the itineraries 
pretend to have been so denominated from the bones found there: but there have 
been no bones found there, and the battle was fought on the other side of the hill. 
From Ossaja the road begins to rise a little, but does not pass into the roots of the 
mountains until the si.vty- seventh milestone from Florence. The ascent thence is 
not steep but perpetual, and continues for twenty minutes. The lake is soon seen 
below on the right, with Borghetto, a round tower, close upon the water; and the 
undulating hills partially covered with wood, amongst which the road winds, sink by 
degrees into the marshes near to this tower. Lower than the road, down to the 
right amidst these woody hillocks, Hannibal placed his horse,| in the jaws of, or rather 

* On Government, chap. li. sect. xxvi. pag. 208. edit. 1751. Sidney is, together 
with Locke and Hoadley, one of Mr. Hume's " despicable'''' writers. 

t " Tantusque fuit ardor animorum, adeo intentus pugnae animus, ut eum terrre 
motum qtii multarum urbium Italiae magnas partes prostravit, avertitque cursu rapido 
amnes, mare fluminibus invexit, montes lapsu ingenti proruit, nemo pugnantiimi sen- 
serit." Tit. Liv. lib. xxii. cap. xii. 

t " Equites ad ipsas fauces saltus tumulis apte, tegentibus locat." T. Li»'u. lib, 
xxii. cap. IV. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 221 

above, (lie pass, which was between the lake and the piescnt road, and most probably 
close to Borgbrtto, just under the lowest of the " tuinuli."* On a sumniu to the left, 
above the road, is an old circular ruin, which the peasants call '• the Tower of Han- 
nibal the Car(hagniian." Arrived at the highest point of the road, tiie traveller has 
a partial view oftlie fatal plain, which opens fully upon him as he descends the Gua- 
landra. He soon finds himself in a vale enclosed to the left and in front, and behind 
hi;n by the GuaianJra hills, bendi ig round in a segment larger than a semicircle, and 
running down at each end to the lake, which obliques to the right and forms the chord 
of this m')untain arc. The position cannot be guessed at from the plains of Cortona, 
nor ap[)ears to be so completely enclosed unless to one who is fairly within the hills. 
It then, indeed, appears " a place made as it were on purpose for a snare," locus 
insidiis natus, '• Borghetto is then found to stand in a narrow marshy pass close to 
the hill, and to the lake, whilst there is no other outlet at the opjiosite turn of the 
m juntatns than through the little town of Passignano, which is pushed ino the water 
by the foot of a high rocky acclivity."! There is a woody eminence branching down 
from the mountains into the upper end of the plain nearer to the side of Passignano, 
and on this stands a white village called Torre. Polybius seems to allude lo this 
eminence as the one on which Hannibal encamped, and drew out his heavy-armed 
Africans and Spaniards in a conspicuous position.! From this spot he despatched 
his Balearic and lig i;-armed trooj)s round through the Gualandra heights to the ricrht, 
so a ^ to arrive unse -n and form an ambush among the broken acclivities which the 
road now passes, and to be ready to act upon the left flank and above the enemy, 
whilst the horse shu up the pass behind. Flaininius came to the lake near Borghetto 
at sunset ; and, witlioui. sending any spies before him, marched through the pass the 
nej.vt morning before the day had quite broken, so that he perceived nothing of the 
horse an i light troops above and about him, and saw only the heavy-armed Carthagi- 
nians in front on the hill of Torre. ^ The consul began to draw out his army in the 
flat, and in the mean time the horse in ambush occupied the pass behind him at Bor- 
ghetto. Thus the lloinans were completely inclosed, having the lake on the rigiit, 
the main army on the hill of Torre in front, the Gualandra hills filled with the li^ht- 
arrned on their left flank, and lieing prevented from receding by the cavalry, who, the 
farther they advanced, stopped up ail the outlets in the rear. A fog rising from the 
lake now spread itself over tJie army of the consul, but the high lands were in the sun- 
shine, and all the ditferent corps in ambush looked towards the hill of Torre for the 
order of atiack. Hannibal gave the signal, and moved down from his post on the 
height. At the same moment all his troops on the eminences behind and in the flank 
of Fiaminius, rushed forwards as it were with one accord into the plain. The Romans, 
who were fjrrning their array in the mist, suddenly heard the shouts of the enemy 
among them, on every side, and before they could fall into their ranks, or draw their 
swords, or see by whom they were attacked, felt at once that they v/ere surrounded 
and lost. 

There are two little rivulets which run from the Gualandra into the lake. The 
traveller crosses the first of these at about a mile after he comes into the plain, and 
this divides the Tuscan from the Papal territories. The second, about a quarter of a 
mile further on, is called " the bloody rivulet," and the peasants point out an open 
spot to the left between the " Sanguinetto" and the hills, which, they say, was the 
principal scene of slaughter. The other part of the plain is covered with thick set 
olive-trees in corn grounds, and is nowhere quite level except near the edge of the 
lake. It is, inieed, most probable, that the battle was fought near this end of the 
valley, fjr the six thousand Romans, who, at the beginning of the action, broke 
through the enemy, escaped to the summit of an eminence which must have been in 
this quarter, otherwise they would have had to traverse the whole plain, and to pierce 
.hrough the main army of Hannibal. 



* " Utii inaxime montes Cortonenses Thrasimenus subit." Ibid. 

t " Inde colles assurgunt." Ibid. 

^' Tdv fiiv Kara irpoffuyTrov rrjg iropeiai \6<j>ov Pivrb? KaTeXdjiero Kai Tovg Aij^vag, Kal 
roirj 'Ifiripag, 1%'^^ '-^^ uvtov KaTEaTpaTo-niSevae. Hist. lib. iii. cap. 83. The account 
in Polybius is not so easily reconcilable with present appearances as that in Livy : he 
talks of hills to the right and left of the pass and valley ; but when Fiaminius entered 
he had the ake at the right of both. 

§. '* A lergo et super caput decepere insidiae." T. Liv. &c, 

19* 



2k2 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

The Romans fought desperately for three hours, but the death of Flaminiu?. was 
the signal for a general dispersion. The Carthaginian horse then burst in upon tlie 
fugitivt'S, and the laive, the marsh about Borghetto, but chiefly the plain of the San- 
guinetto and the passes of the Gualandra, were strewed with dead. Near some old 
walls on a bleak ridge to the left above the rivulet many auman bones have been 
repeatedly found, and this has confirmed the pretensions and the name of the '' stream 
of blood." 

Every district of Italy has its hero. In the north some painter is the usual genius 
of the place, and the foreign .Tulio Romano more than divides Mantua with hei native 
Virgil.=^ To the south we hear .-f Roman names. Near Thrasimene tradition is 
still faithful to the fame of an enemy, and Hannibal the Carthaginian is the only 
ancient name remembered on the banks of the Penigian lake. Flaminius is unknown ; 
but the postilions on that road have been taught to show the very spot where // Co7i- 
sole Romano was slain. Of all who fought and fell in the battle of Thrasimene, the 
historian himself has, besides the generals and Maharbal, preserved indeed only a 
single name. You overtake the Carthaginian again on the sr.me road to Rome. 
The antiquary, that is, the hostler of the posthouse at Spoleto, tells you that his 
town repulsed the victorious enemy, and shows you the gate still called Porta di An- 
nibale. It is hardly worth while to remark that a French travel writer, well known 
by the name of the President Dupaty, saw Thrasimene in the lake of Bolsena, which 
lay conveniently on his way from Sienna to Ro.ne. 



XXIV. 

STATUE OF POMPEY. 

" And thou, dread statue ! still existent in 
The austerest form of naked majesty ^ 

Stanza Ixxxvii. lines 1 and 2. 

The projected division of the Spada Pompey has already been recorded by the 
historian of the Dechne and Fall of the Roman Empire. Mr. Gibbon ibund it in 
the memorials of Flaminius Vacca ;t and it may be added to his mention of it that 
Pope Julius III. gave the contending owners five hundred crowns for the statue ; 
and presented it to Cardinal Capo di Ferro, who had prevented the judgment ol 
Solomon from being executed upon the image. In a more civilised age this statue 
was exposed to an actual operation : for the French, who acted the Brutus of Voltaire 
in the Coliseum resolved that their Caesar should fall at the base of that Pompey, 
which was supposed to have l)een sprinkled with the blood of the original dictator. 
The nine-foot hero was therefore removed to the arena of the amphitheatre, and to 
facilitate its transport, suffered the temporary amputation of its light arm. The republi- 
can trasedians had to plead that the arm was a restoration : but their accusers do not 
believe that the integrity of the statue would have protected it. The love of finding 
every coincidence has discovered the true Csesarean ichor in a stain near the right 
knee, but colder criticism has rejected not only the blood but the portrait, and as- 
signed the globe of power rather to the first of the emperors than to the last of the re- 
publican masters of Rome. WinkelmannJ is loth to allow an heroic statue of a 
Roman citizen, but the Griraani Agrippa, a contemporary almost, is heroic ; and naked 
Roman figures were only very rare, not absolutely forbidden. The face accords 
much b-etter with the " hominem integrum et castum et gravem,''^ than with any ol 

* About the middle of the Xllth century the coins of Mantua bore on one side the 
image and figure of Virgil. Zecca d'ltaUa, pi. xvii. i. 6. Voyage dans ie Milanais 
&c. par. A. Z. Millin. torn. ii. pag. 294. Paris, 1817. 

■f Memorie, num. Ivii. pag. 9. ap. Montfaucon, Diarium Italicum. 

J Storiadelle Arti. &c. lib. ix. cap. 1. pag. 321, 322. torn. ii. 

§ Gicer. Epist. ad Atticum, xi. 6. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 22'6 

the busts of Augustus, and is too stern for him who was beautiful, says Suetonius, at 
all periods of his life. The pretended likeness to Alexander the Great cannot be 
aiscerned, but the traits resemble the medal of Pompey. The* objectionable globe 
may not have been an ill applied flattery to .im who found Asia Minor the boundary 
and left it the centre of the Roman empire. It seems that Winkelmjinn has made a 
mistake in thinking that noproof of the identity of this statue with thai which received 
the bloody sacrifice, can be derived from the spot where it was discoveiCd.| Flami- 
nius Vacca says sotto una cantina, and this cantina is known to have been in the Vicolo 
de' Leutari, near the Cancellaria, a position corresponding exactly to that of the 
Janus before the basilica of Pompey's theatre, to which Augustus transferred the 
statue after the curia was either burnt ot taken down.| Part of the Pompeian shade, § 
the portico, existed in the beginning of the XVth century, and the atrium was still 
calle.l Satrum. So says Blondus.|| At all events, so imposing is the stern majesty 
of the statue, and so memorable is the story, that the play of the imagination leaves 
no room for the exercise of the judgment, and the fiction, if a fiction it is, operates on 
the spectator with an effect pot less powerful ihan truth. 



XXV. 

THE BRONZE WOLF. 

** And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rome ! " 

Stanza Ixxxviii. line 1. 

Ancient Rome, like modern Sienna, abounded most probably with the images of 
the foster-mother of her founder; but there were two she-wolves of whom history 
makes particular mention. One of these, of brass in ancient ivork, was seen by 
DionysiuslI at the temple of Romulus, under the Palatine, and is universally believed 
to be thaf mentioned by the Latin historian, as having been made from the money 
collected by a fine on usurers, and as standing under the Ruminal fig-tree.** The 
other was tliat \yliich Cicerojt has celebrated both in prose and verse, and which the 
historian Dion also records as having suffered the same accident as is alluded to by 

* Published by CauseuSj in his Museum Romanum. 

I Storia delle Arti, &c. lib. ix. cap. i. pag. 321, 322. torn. ii. 

J Sueton. in vit. August, cap. 31, and in vit. C. J. Cajsar. cap. 88. Appian says 
it was burnt down. See a note of Pitiscus to Suetonius, pag. 224. 

ij " Tu modo Pompeia lenta spatiare sub umbra." 

Ovid. Ar. Amand. 

II Roma Instaurata, lib. ii. fo. 31. 

IT XdXKca Tzoi^^iara TraXataf ipyaalai;, Antiq. Rom. lib. 1. 

** " Ad ficuin Ruminalem simulacra infantium conditorum urbis sub uberibus 
!upse posuerunt." Liv. Hist. hb. x. cap. Ixix. This was in the year U. C. 455 or 
457. 

■ft " Tum statua Natrae, turn simulacra Deorum, Romulusque et Remus cum 
alttice bellua vi fulminis ictis conciderunt." De Divinat. ii. 20. " Tactus est illo 
etiam qui banc urbem condidit Romulus, quern inauratum in Capitolio parvura atquo 
lactantem, uberibus lupinis inhiantem fuisse meministis." In CatiUn. iii. 8. 

" Hie silvestris erat Romani nominis altrix 
Martia, quae parvos Mavortis semine natos 
Uberibus gravidis vitali rore rigebat 
due tum cum pueris flammato fulminis ictu 
Goncidit, atque avulsa pedum vestigia liquat." 

De Consulatu, lib. ii. (lib. i. de Divinat. cap. iL) 



224 histor;cal notes to - 

the orator.* The question agitated by the antiquaries is, whether the wT now tn 
the Conservators' Palace is that, of Livy and Dionysius, or that of Cicero, orwi.eiher 
it is neither one nor the other. The earliei writers ditfer as much as the moderns -, 
Lucius F'auiiusj says, tha. it is the one alluded to by both, which is impossible, and 
also by Virtjil. which niav be. Fulvius Ursinus| calls it the wolf cf Diuiivsius. and 
Marlidnas^ iaiks of it as the one inenlionud by Cicero. To him ll\ cqums ircmLlingly 
assents. II Nardini is inclined to suppose it may be one of the many wolves preserved 
m anci<rnt Rome ; but of the tsvo rather bends to the Ciceronian statue. IT M(,ni- 
faucon*'' mentions it as a point without doubt. Of the latter writers the dfci.-ive 
Winkelniann't't proclaims it as having been found at the chuich of Saini Theouore. 
where, or near where, was the temple of Romulus, and consequently makes it the 
wolf of Dionysius. His authority is Lucius Faunus, who, however, only says that it 
was placed, noi found, at the Ficus Ruminalis, by the Comitium, by which hn do<-s 
noi seem to allude to the church of Saint Theodore. Rycquius was the first to make 
the mistake, and Winkelmann followed Rycqums. 

Flaminius Vacca tells quite a different story, and says he had heard the wolf wiih 
the twins was foundj]. near the arch of Septimius Severus. The commentator on 
Winkelmann is of the same opinion with that learned person, and is incensed at Nar- 
dini for not having remarked that Cicero, in speaking of the wolf struck with liohtning 
in the Capitol, makes use of the past tense. But, with the Abate's leave, Nardini 
does not positively assert the statue to be that mentioned by Cicero, and, if he had, 
the assumption would not perhaps have been so exceedingly indiscreet. The Abate 

* 'Ev' yap t(u KaT:T}To\i<i> uvSpidvTEi t( ttoWoi virb KcpavvHv GVVE^wveitdrjaav. Kat iiyaX- 
Hara a\}>a re, Kai 6idi eiri Kiovoi ISpvuivov, ejVwv tc TigXvKatvrji avv te rip 'F(i)ijh^ Kat avv 
Tw 'Pw/itJAw iSpvuivr) 'inECT). Dion. Hist. lib. xxxvii. pag. 37. edit. Rob. Steph, 1548. 
He goes on to mention that the letters of the columns on which the laws were written 
were liquefied and become ufJivSoa. All that the Romans did was to erect a large 
statue to Jupiter, looking towards the east : no mention is afterwards made of the 
wolf. This happened in A. U. C. 689. The Abate Fea, in noticing this passage 
of Dion (Storiadelle Arti, &c. torn. i. pag. 202. notex.), s&ys, ]Von osta7iie, aggiunge 
Dione, che fosse benfermata (the wolf) ; by which it is clear the Abate translated 
the Xylandro-Leunclavian version, which puts quamvis stabilita for the original 
iSpv/jiivr), a word that does not mea^nhen fermata, but only raised, as may be distinctly 
seen from another passage of the same Dion : ^'il6ov}^tj9ri jiiv ovv h 'AyptTrn-aj Katrbv 
Avyovarov ivravda I6pvaai. Hist. lib. Ivi. Dion says that Agrippa " wished to raise 
a statue of Augustus in the Pantheon." 

I " In eadem porticu senea lupa, cujus uberibus Romulus ac Remus lactantea 
mhiant, conspicitur : de hac Cicero et Virgilius semper intellexere. Livius hoc 
^gnum ab ^Edilibus ex pecuniis quibus mulctati essent fceneratores, positum innuit. 
Antea in Cornitiis ad Ficum Ruminalem. quo loco pueri fuerant expositi locatum 
pro certo est." Luc. Fauni de Antiq. Urb. Rom. lib. ii. cap. vii. ap. Sallengre, 
torn. i. p. 217. In his xviith chapter he repeats that the statues were there, but not 
that they were found there. 

J Ap. Nardini, Roma Vetus, lib. v^^p. iv. 

§ Marliani Urb. Rom. Topograph, lib. n. cap. ix. He mentions another wolf 
and twins in the Vatican, lib. v . cap. xxi. 

H " Non desunt qui banc ipsam esse putent, quam adpinximus, quae e comitio ib 
Basilicam Lateranum. cum nonnullis aUis antiquitatum reliquiis, atque hinc in Capi« 
tohura postea relata sit, quamvis Marlianus antiquam Capitolinam esse maluit h, 
TuUio descriptam, cui ut in re nimis dubia, trepid6 adsentimur." Just. Rycqaii de 
Capit. Roman. Comm. cap. xxiv. pag. 250. edit. Lugd. Bat. 1696. 

IT Nardini, Roma Vetus, lif>. v. cap. iv. 

** " Lupa hodieque in capito'inis proslrat sedibus, cum vestigio fulminis-quo ictam 
narrat Cicero." Diarium Italic, tom. i. p. 174. 

tt Storia delle Arti, &c. lib. iii. cap. iii. § ii. rote 10. "Winkelmann has made a 
strange blunder in the note, by saying the Ciceronian wolf was not in the Capitol, 
nd that Dion was wrong in saying so. 

XX " Intesi dire, che 1' Ercolo di bronzo. che ogji si trova nella sala di Campidoglio, 
fu trovrito nel foro Romano appresso 1' arco di Settimio : e vi fu trovata anche la 
lupadi hroriTto cbe a'lata Romolo e Remo, e sta nella Loggia de Conservatori." Flam. 
Vacca, Memorie, num. iii. pag. i. ap. Montfaucon, Diar. Ital. tom. i. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 22,> 

himself is obliged to own that there are marks very like the scathing of lightning in the 
hinder legs of ihe present wolf; and, to get rid of this, adds, that the wolf seen by 
Dionysiu? might have been also struck by lighlning, ot otherwise injured. 

Let us examine the subject by a reference to the words of Cicero. The orator ui 
two places seems to particularise the Komulus and the Remus, especially the first, 
which his audience remembered to have been in ihe Capitol, as bt-ing struck with 
lightniuij. In his verses he records thai the twins and wolf both fell, and that the 
latter left behind tho marks of her feet. Cicero does not say that the wolf was con- 
sumed ; and Dion only mentions that it fell down, without alludinwj as the Abate has 
male him, to the force of the blow, or the firmness with which it had been fixed. The 
whole strength, therefore, of the Abate's argument hangs upon the past tense ; 
which, however, may be somewhat diminished by remarking that the phiase only 
shows that ihe statue was not then standing in its t'ormer posi'ion. Winkelmann has 
observed, that the present twins are modern ; anl it is equally clear that there are 
marks of gilding on the wolf, which might therefore be supposed to make part of the 
ancient group. It is known that the sacred images of the Capitol were not destroyed 
whi^n injured by time ot accident, but were put into certain under-ground depositaries 
called /acJstfE.* It may be thought possible that the wolf had been so deposited, and 
had been replaced in some conspicuous situation when the Capitol was rebuilt by 
Vsspasian. Rycquius, without mentioning his authority, telis that it was transferred 
from the Comitmm to the Lateran, and thence brought to the Capitol. If it was 
fo;in:l ni^ar the arch of Severus, it may have been one of the images which Orosiusf 
says was thrown down in the Forum by lighting A'hen Aiaric took the city. That 
It IS of very high antiquity the workmanship is a "iecisive proof; and that circumstance 
mduced Winkelmann to believe it the wolf of Dionysius. The Capitoline wolf, how- 
ever, may have been of the same early date as that at the temple of Romulus. Lac- 
tantiusj asserts that in his time the Romans worshipped a wolf; and it is known that 
the Lupercalia held out to a very late period^ after every other observance of the 
ancient superstition had totally expired. This may account for the pieservation of the 
ancient image longer than the other early symbols of Paganism. 

It may be permitted, however, to remark, that the wolf was a Roman symbol, but 
that the wi)rship of that symbol is an inference drawn by the zeal of Lactantius. 
The early Christian writers are not to be trusted in the charges which they make 
a fainst the Pagans. Eusebius accused the Romans to their faces of worshipping 
Simon Masjus. and raisinji a statue to him in the island of the Tyber. The Romans 
had probably never heard of such a f)erson before, who came, however, to play a 
considerable, though scandalous part in the church history, and has leftseveral tokens 
of his aerial combat with St. Peter at Rome; notwithstanding that an inscription 
found in this very island of the Tyber showed the Simon Magus of Eusebius to be a 
certain indigenal god, called Semo Sangus or Fidius.|| 

Even when the worship of the founder of Rome had been abandoned, it was thought 
expedient to humour the habits of the good matrons of the city, by sending them with 
their sick infants to the church of Saint Theodore, as they had before carried them 



* Luc. Faun. ibid. 

f See note to stanza LXXX. in Historical Illustrations. 

J " RornuU nutrlx Lupa honoribus est affecta divinis, et ferrem, si anima. ipsura 
fuisset, cujus fiofurain gent." Lactant. de Falsa Religione, lib. 1. cap. xx. pag. lOL 
edit, varior. 1660 ; that is to say, he would rather adore a wolf than a prostitute. His 
commentator has observed that the opinion of Livy concerning Laurentia being ni;ur- 
ed in this wolf, was not universal. Sirabo thotight so. Rycquius is wrong in savmo 
that Lact ntius mentions the wolf was in the Ca[>i!ol. 

§ To A. D. 496. " Q-uis credere possit," says Baronius [Ann. Eccles. torn, 
viii. p. 602. in an. 496.], " viguisse adhuc Romae ad Gelasii tempora, quae fuers* ante 
exordia urbis allata in Italiam Lupercalia ?" Gelasius wrote a letter which ocruiies 
four folio pages to Andromachus the senator, arid others, to show that the riles ."saouid 
be given up. 

II Eusebius ha^ these words : Ka\ avSpiavri Trap' vix7v wj 5-£0? rcTtixrjTni, ev t~) TlScpt 

womn>p [JtCTa^v rSiv 6vo yc<pvpij)v. ^X^^ eniypafriv 'PwjuaiVrjv ra^rrjv Yi/xo)vi ^e(o JldyKrdi. 

Ftcles. Hist. lib. li. cap. xiii. p. 40. .Tustin Martyr had told the story before ; '>u. 

?■ onius himself was obhged to detea this fable. S«« Nardini, Roma Vet. lib. vii- 

. zii. 



220 liiSlOlllCAL NOTES TO 

to the len.ole of Romulus.* The practice is continued to this day ; and '.he site of 
the ahove church seems to be thereby identified wiih that of the temple : »o lliai li the 
wolf had been really found mere, as Winkelmann says, there would be no doubt o* 
tlie present statue beinj^ that seen by Dionysius.t But Faunus, in saying that it waf 
at the Ficus Runnnalis b)* the Comitium, is only talking of its ancient position as re- 
corded by Pliny ; and even if he had been remarking where it was found, would not 
have alluded to the church of Saint Theodore, but to a very different place, near 
which it was then thought the Ficus Ruminalis had been, and also ihe Ciniiiium ; 
that iS, the three columns by the church of Santa Maria Liberatrice, at the corner ol 
the Palatine looking on ihe Forum. 

It is, in fact, a mere conjectuie where the image was actually dug up,| and pe.- 
haps, on the whole, the marks of the gilding, and of the lightning, are a betier argu- 
ment in favoir of its being the Ciceronian wolf than any that can be adduced tor the 
contrary opinion. At any rate, it is reasonably selected in the text of the poem as 
(me of the most interesting relics of the ancient city, § and is certainly the figuie, i^ 
Bot the very animal to which Virgil alludes in his beautiful verses : — 

*' Geminos huic ubera circum 
Ludere pendentes pueros, et lambere matrem 
Impavidos: illam tereti cervice reflexam 
Mulcere alternos, et corpora fingere lingua ."|| 



XXVI. 

JULIUS CiESAR. 



*' For the Roman's mind 
fVas modelVd in a less terrestrial mould." 

Stanza xc. lines 3 and 4 

It is possible to be a very great man and to be still very inferior to Julius Caesar 
the most complete character, so Lord Bacon thought, of all antiquity. Nature seems 
incapable of such extraordinary combinations as composed his versatile capacity 
which was the wonder even of the Romans themselves. The first general — the only 
triumphant politician — inferior to none in eloquence — comparable to any in the at- 
tainments of wisdom, in an age made up of the greatest commanders, statesmen, 

* " In esse gli antichi pontefici per toglier la memoria de' giuochi Lupercali 
istituiti in onore di Romolo, introdussero 1' uso di portarvi bambini oppressi da infer- 
miia occulte, accib si liberino per 1' intercessione di questo santo, come di continuo si 
sperimenta." Rionexii. Ripa, accurata e succincta Descrizione, &c. di Roma 
Moderna, dell' Ab. Ridolf. Venuti, 1766. 

I Nardmi. lib. V. cap. 11. convicts Pomponius Lisetus crasst erroris, m putting 
the Ruminal tig-tree at the church of Saint Theodore : but as Livy says the wolf was 
at the Ficus Ruminalis, and Dionysius at the temple of Romulus, he is obliged (cap. 
V.) to own that the two were close together, as well as the Lupercal cave, shaded, 
as it were, by the fig-tree. 

J " Ad comitium ficus olim Ruminalis germinabat, sub qua lupae rumam, hoc est, 
mammam. docente Varrone, suxerant olim Romulus el Remus ; non procul a teniplo 
hodie D. Marias Liberatricis appellato, ubi forsan inventa nobilis ilia aenea statua 
lupae sjeminos puerulos lactanlis, quam hodie in Capitolio videmus." Olai Borricliii 
Antiqua Urbis Romanae Facies. cap. x. See also cap. xii. Borrichius wrote after 
Nardini, in 1687. Ap. Graev. Anliq. Rom. tom. iv. p. 1622. 

§ Donatus, lib, xi. cap. 19. gives a medal representing on one side the wolf in the 
same position as that in the Capitol ; and in the reverse the wolf with the head not 
reverted. It is of the time of Antoninus Pius. 

H JEn. viii. 631. See Dr. Middleton, in his Letter from Rome, who iiiclines te 
ihe Ciceronian wolf, but without examining the subject. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 22 i 

orators, and philosophers that ever appeared in the world — an author who uurripo-eJ 
a perfect specimen of miliary annals in his travelling carriage — atone time ia a 
controversy with Cato, at another writing a treatise on punning, and coUectmg a set 
of good sayings — fighting* and making love at the same moment, ami willing t" 
abandon both his empire and his mistress for a sight of the Fountains of tho Nile. 
Such did Julius Caesar appear to his contemporaries and to those of the subsequent 
ages who were the most inclined to deplore and execrate his fatal genius. 

But we must not be so much dazzled with his surpassing glory, or with his mag- 
nanimous, his amiable quaUties, as to forget the decision of his impartial cour'iy- 
««en ; — 

HE WAS JUSTLY SLAIN.f 




XXVII. 

EGERIA. 

** Egeria ! sweet creation of some heart ^^ 
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair 
^s thine ideal breast." 

Stanza cxv. lines 1, 2, and 3. 

The respectable authority of Flarainius Vacca would incline us to believe in th 
claims of the Egerian grotto. J He assures us that he saw an inscription in the pave- 
ment, stating that the fountain was that of Egeria, dedicated to th.3 nymphs. The 
inscription is not there at this day ; but Montfaucon quotes two lines § of Ovid from 

* In his tenth book, Lucan shows him sprinkled with the blood of Pharsalia in the 
arms of Cleopatra, 

" Sanguine Thessalicce cladis perfusus adulter 
Admist Venerem cuiis, et miscuit armis." 
After feasting with his mistress, he sits up all night to converse with the .Egyp- 
tian sages, and tells Achoreus, 

" Spes sit mihi certa videndi 
Niliacos fontes, helium civile relinquam." 

" Sic velut in tuta securi pace trahebant 
Noctis iter medium." 
Inunediately afterwards, he is fighting again, and defending every position. 

*' Sed adept defensor ubique 
Caisar et hos aditus gladiis, hos ignibus arcet 

caeca nocte carinis 

Insiluit Caesar semper feliciter usus 
Prcecipiti cursu bellorum et tempore rapto." 
■f " Jure caesus existimetur," says Suetonius, after a fair estima ion of his charac- 
ter, and making use of a phrase which was a formula in Livy's :ime. " Melium 
jure caesum pronuntiavit, etiam si regni crimine insons fucrit:" lib. iv. cap. 48 J 
and which was continued in the legal judgments pronounced in jus fiable homicides, 
such as killing housebreakers. See Sueton. in Vit. C. J. Caesar, ith the commen- 
tary of Pitiscus, p. 184. 

I " Poco lontano dal detto luogo si scende ad un casaletto, del qualen e sono Pa- 
droni li CafFarelli, che con questo nome 6 chiamato fl luogo; vi e una fontar,^ sotto 
una gran volta antica, che al presente si gode, e li Romani vi vanno I'estate a ricre- 
arsi ; nel pavimento di essa fonte si legge in un epitaffio essere quella la fonte di Ege- 
ria, dedicata alle ninfe, e questa, dice I'epitaffio, essere la medesima fonte in cui fu 
convertita." Memorie,&c. ap. Nardmi, pag. 13. He does not give the inscription. 

^ " In villa Justiniana extat ingens lapis quadratus solidus, in quo sculpta haec dua 
Ovidii carmina sunt : — 



228 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

a stone in the Villa Giustiniani, which he seems to think had been brought from the 
same grotto. 

This grotto and valley were formerly frequented in summer, and particularly the 
first Sunday in May, by the modern Romans, who attached a salubrious quality to 
the fountain which trickles from an orifice at the bottom of the vauU, and, overflow'ing 
the little pools, creeps down the matted grass into the brook below. The brook is the 
Ovidian Almo, whose name and qualities are lost in the modern Aquataccio. The 
yalley itself is called Valle di Caffarelli, from the dukes of that name who made over 
their foun'ain to the Pallavicini, with sixty rubbia of adjoining land. 

There can be little doubt that this long dell is the Egerian valley of Juvenal and 
the pausing place of Umbritius, notwithstanding the generaUty of his commentators 
have supposed the descent of the satirist and Ins friend to have been into the Arician 
grove, where the njmph met Ilippolitus, and where she was more peculiarly wor- 
shipped. 

1 he step from the Porta Capena to the Alban hill, fifteen miles distant, would be 
too considerable, unless we were to believe in the wild conjecture of Vossius, who 
rmikes that gate travel from its present station, where he pretends it was during the 
rcign of the Kings, as far as the Arician grove, and then makes it recede to its old site 
with the shrinking city.* The tufo, or pumice, which the poet prefers to marble, is 
the substance composting the bank in which the grotto is sunk. 

The modern t(^pograph|:rs f find in the grotto the statue of the njTnph, and nine 
niches fotjjfee Muses, and a late traveller], has discovered that the cave is restored 
to that srmplicity which the poet regretted has been exchanged for injudicious orna- 
ment. But the headless statue is palpably lather a male than a nymph, and has 
none of the attributes ascribed to it at present visible. The nine Muses could hardly 
have stood in six niches ; and .Tiivenal certainly does not allude to any individual 
cave.§ Nothing can be collected from the satij^ but that somewh.ere near the Porta 
Capena was a spot in which it was supposed Numa held nightly consultations with 
his nymph, and where there was a grove and a sacred fountain, and fanes once con- 
secrated to the Muses ; and that from this spot there was a descent into the valley of 
Egeria. \\here were several artificial caves. It is clear that the statues of the Muses 
made no part of the decoration which the satirest thought misplaced in these caves; 
for he expressly assigns other fanes (delubra) to these divinities above the valley, 
and moreover tells us that they had been ejected to make room for the Jews. In 
fact, the little temple, now called that of Bacchus was formerly thought to belong to 
the Muses, and Nardini || places thtm in a poplar grove, which was in his lime 
above the valley. 

It is probable, from the inscription and position, that the cave now shown may be 
one of the " artificial caverns," (jf which, indeed, there is another a little way highei 
up the valley, under a tuft of alder bushes : but a single grotto of Egeria is a mere 

" .Egeria est quae prsebet aquas dea grata Camoenis 
Ilia Numa; conjunx consiliumque fuit.' 

Qui lapis videtur exeodem Egeria) fonte, aut ejus vicinia isthuc comportalus." Dia- 
rium Italic, p. 153. 

* De Magnit. Vet. Rom. ap. Grcev. Ant. Rom. torn. iv. p. 1507. 

t Echinard, Descrizione di Roma e dell' Agro Romano, corretto dall Abate 
Venuti, in Roma. 1750. They believe in the grotto and nymph. " Siraulacro di 
questo fonte, essendovi sculpite le acque a pie di esso. 
J Classical Tour, chap. vi. p. 217. vol, ii. 

§ " Substitit ad veteres arcus, madidamque Capenam, 
Hie iibi nocnirnte Numa constituebat amicae. 
Nimc sacri font is nemus, et delubra k^iantur 
Juda;is quorum cop!!inuni foenamque i^.ipellex. 
Omnis enim populo mercedem pendere jussa est 
Arbor, et ejectis mendieat silva Camoenis. 
In vallem Egerise descendimus, et speluncas j 

Dissimiles veris : quanto prsestanlius esset * 

Numen aquae, viridi si margine clauderet undas 
Herba, nee ingenuum violarent marmora tophum 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 229 

modern invention, grafted upon the application of the epithet Egerian to these nym- 
phea in oreneral, and which might send us to look for the haunts of Numa upon the 
banks of the Thames. 

Our English Juvenal was not seduced into mistranslation by his acquaintance with 
Pope : he carefully preserves the correct plural — 

*' Thence slowly winding down the vale, we view 
The Egerian grots ; on, how unlike the true ! " 

The valley abounds with sprmgs,* and over these springs, which the Muses might 
haunt from their neighbouring groves, Egeria presided : hence she was said to supply 
them with water ; and she was the nymph of the grottos through which the fountains 
were taught to flow. 

The whole of ihe monuments in the vicinity of the Egerian valley have received 
names at will, which have been changed at will. Vcnuti | owns he can see no 
traces of the temples of Jove, Saturn, Juno, Venus, and Diana, which Nardini found, 
or hoped to find. The mutatorium of Caracalla's circus, the temple of Honour and 
Virtue, the temple of Bacchus, and, above all, the temple of the god Rediculus, are 
the antiquaries' despair. 

The circus of Caracalla depends on a medal of that emperor cited by Fulvius 
Ursinus, of which the reverse shows a circus, supposed, however, by some to repre- 
sent the Circus Maximus. It gives a very good idea of that place of exercise. The 
soil has been but little raised, if we may judge from the small cellular strucftire at the 
end of the Spina, which was probably the chapel of the god Census. This cell is 
half beneath the soil, as it must have been in the circus itself; for Dionysius J could 
not be persuaded to believe that this divmity was the Roman Neptune, because his 
alt ir was under ground. 



XXVIII. 

THE ROMAN NEMESIS. 

" Great JVemesis! 
Jffere, where the ancient paid thee homage long.^^ 

Stanza cxxxii. lines 2 and 5. 

We rea<i m Suetonius, that Augustus, from a warning received in a dream, ^ coun- 
terfeited, once a year, the beggar, sitting before the gate of his palace with his hand 
nollowed and stretched out for charity. A statue formerly in the Villa Borghese, 
and which should be now at Paris, represents the Emperor in that posture of suppli- 
cation. The object of this self-degradation was the appeasement of Nemesis, the 
perpetual attendant on good fortune, of whose power the Roman conquerors were 
also reminded by certain symbols attached to their cars of triumph. The symbols 
were the whip and the crotalo, which were discovered in the Nemesis of the Vatican. 
The attitude of beggary made the above statue pass for that of Belisarius : and until 
the criticism of Winkelmann || had rectified the mistake, one fiction was called in t 

* " Undique e solo aquae scaturuint." Nardmi, lib. iii. cap. iii. 
t Echinard,&c. Cic. cit. p. 297, 298 

I Antiq. Rom. lib. n. cap. xxxi. 

§ Sueton. in Vit. August], cap. 91. Casaubon, in the note, refers to Plutarch's 
Lives of Camillus and jEmilius Paulus, and also to his apophthegms, for the charac- 
ter of this deity. The hollowed hand was reckoned the last degree of degradation ; 
and when the dead body of the prsefect Rufinus was borne about in triumph by the 
people, the indignity was increased by putting his hand in that position. 

II Storia delle Arti, &c. lib. xii. cap. iii. torn. ii. p. 422. Visconti calls the sta- 
tue, however, a Cybele. It is given in the Museo Pio-Clement. tom. i. par. 40. The 
Abate Fea (Spiegazione dei Rami. Storia, &c. tom. iii. p. 613.) calls it a Chrisip- 
«u«. 

20 



230 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

support another. It was the same fear of the sudden termination of prosperity thai 
made Amasis king of Egypt warn his friend Polycrates of Samos, that the gods loved 
those whose hves were chequeied with good and evil fortunes. ]Nemesis was sup- 
posed to lie in wait particularly for the prudent ; that is. for those whose caution ren- 
dered them accessible only to mere accidents : and her first altar was raised on the 
banks of the Phrygian ^sepus by Adrastus, probably the prinoe of that name who 
killed the son of CrcEsus by mistake. Hence the goddess was called Adtastea.* 

The Roman Nemesis was sacred and august : there was a temple to her in the 
Palatine under the name of Rhamnusia ;t so great indeed was the propensity of the 
ancients to trust to the revolution of events, and lo believe in the divinity of Fortune, 
that in the same Palatine there was a temple to the Fortune of the day.| This is the 
last superstition which retains its hold over the human heart ; and, from concentrating 
in one object the credulity so natuial to man, has always appeared strongest in those 
unembarrassed by other articles of belief. The antiquaries have supposed this god- 
dess to be synonymous with Fortune and with Fate ;§ but it was in her vindictiv« 
quality that she was worshipped under the name of Nemesis. 



XXIX. 

GLADIATORS. 



" He, their sire, 
Butchered to make a Roman holiday." 

Stanza cxh. lines 6 and 

Gladiators were of two kinds, compelled and voluntary ; and were supplied froin 
several conditions : — from slaves sold for that purpose ; from culprits ; from jarbariaii 
captives either taken in war, and, after being led in triumph, set apart for the gamos, 
or those seized and condemned as rebels ; also from free citizens, some fighting lor 
hire {auctorati) , others from a depraved ambition : at last even knights and senators 
were exhibited, — a disgrace of which the first tyrant was naturally the first inventor. || 
In the end, dwarfs, and even women, fought ; an enormity prohibited by Severus. 
Of these the most to be pitied undoubtedly were the barbarian captives ; and to ihis 
species a Christian writer H justly applies the epithet " innocent" to distinguish 
them from the professional gladiators. Aurelian and Claudius supplied great num- 
bers of these unfortunate victims; the one after his triumph, and the other on the 



♦ Diet, de Bayle, article Adrastea. 

•f It is enumerated by the regionary Victor. 

I Fortunae hujusce diei Cicero mentions her, de Legib. 

§ DEAE NEMESl 

SIVE FORTUNAE 

PISTORIVS 

RVGIANVS 

V. C. LEGAT. 

LEG. XIII. G. 

CORD. 

See Questiones Romanae, &c. ap. Graev. Antiq. Roman, torn. v. p. 942. See also 
Muratori, Nov. Thesaur. Inscrip. Vet. tom, i. p. 88, 89, where there are three Latin 
and one Greek inscription to Nemesis, and others to Fate. 

II Julius Caesar, who rose by the fall of the aristocracy, brought Furius Leptinus 
and A. Calenus upon the arena. 

H Tertullian, " certe quidem et innocentes gladiatores in ludum veniunt, et vo- 
.uptatis publicae' hostise fiant." Just. Lipt Saturn. Sermon, lib. ii. cap. iii. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 231 

pretext of a rebellion.* No war, says Lipsius,! was ever so destructive to the hu- 
man race as these sports. In spite of the laws of Constantine and Constans, gladia- 
torial shows survived the old established religion more than seventy years ; but they 
owed their final extinction to tlie courage of a Christian. In the year 404, on th3 
kalends of January, they were exhibiting the shows in the Flavian amphitheatre be- 
fore the usual immense concourse of people. Almachius or Teleraachus, an eastern 
monk, who had travelled to Rome intent on his holy purpose, rushed into the midst 
of the arena, and endeavoured to separate the combatants. The praetor Alypius, a 
person incredibly attached to these games,t gave instant orders to the gladiators to 
slay him ; and Telemachus gained the crown of martyrdom, and the title of saint, 
which surely has never either before or since been awarded for a more noble exploit. 
Honorius immediately abolished the shows, which were never afterwards revived. 
The story is told by Theodoret i} and Cassiodorus,j| and seems worthy of credit not- 
withstanding its place in the Roman martyrology.ll Besides the torrents of blood 
which tlowed at the funerals, in the amphidieatres, the circus, the forums, and other 
public places, gladiators were introduced at feasts, and tore each other to pieces 
amidst the supper tables, to the great delight and applause of the guests. Yet Lip- 
sius permits himself to suppose the loss of courage, and the evident degeneracy of 
mankind, to be nearly connected with the aboUtion of these bloody spectacles.** 



XXX. 

** Here, where the Roman million's blame ok praise 
IVas death or life, the playthings of a crowd. " 

Stanza cxlii. lines 5 and 6. 

When one gladiator wounded another, he shouted, " he has it," " hoc habet," or 
" habet." The wounded combatant dropped his weapon, and advancing to the edge 
of the arena, supplicated the spectators. If he had fought well, the people saved 
him ; if otherwise, or as they happened to be inclined, they turned down their thumbs, 
and he was slain. They were occasionally so savage that they were impatient if a 
combat lasted longer than ordinary without wounds or death. The emperor's pre- 
sence generally saved the vanquished; and it is recorded as an instance of Cara- 
calla's ferocity, that he sent those who supplicated him for life, in a spectacle, at 
Nicomedia, to ask the people ; in other words, handed them over to be slain. A 
similar ceremony is observed at the Spanish bull-fights. The magistrate presides; 
and after the horsemen and piccadores have fought the bull, the matadore steps for- 
ward and bows to hiin for permission to kill the animal. If the bull has done his duty 
by killing two or three horses, or a man, which last is rare, the people interfere 
with shouts, the ladies wave their handkerchiefs, and the animal is saved. The 
wounds and death of the horses are accompanied with the loudest acclamations, and 
many gestures of delight, especially from the female portion of the audience, including 



* Vopiscus, in vit. Auret. and in vit. Claud, ibid. 

t " Credo imb scio nullum bellum tantam cladera vastitiemque generi humano 
mtuUsse, quam hos ad voluptatem ludos." Just. Lips. ibid. lib. i. cap. xii. 

1 Augustinus (lib. vi. confess, cap. viii.) " Alypium suum gladiatorii spectacuh 
inhiatu incredibiliter abreptum," sctibit. ib. lib. i. cap. xii. 
§ His . Eccles. cap. xxvi. lib. v. 
H Cassiod, Tripartita, 1. x. c. xi. Saturn, ib. ib. 

H Baronius, ad. ann. et in notis ad Martyrol. Rom. I.Jan. See — Marangom 
delle memorie sacre e profane dell' Anfiteatro Flavio, p. 25. edit. 1746. 

** " Q,uod ? non tu Lipsi momentum aliquod habuisse censes ad virtutem? Maj- 
num. Tempora nostra, nosque ipsos videamus. Oppidum ecce unum alterumve 
captum, direptum est; tumultus circa nos, non in nobis : et tamen concidimus et tur- 
bamur. ITbi robur, ubi tot per annos meditata sapientiae studia? ubi ille animus qui 
possit licere, si fractus illabutur orbis 7 " &c. ibid, lib, ii. cap. xxv. The prototype 
of Mr. Windham's panegyric on bull-baiting. 



232 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

those of the gentlest blood. Every thing depends on habit. The author of Child* 
Harold, the writer of this note, and one or two other Englishmen, who have certainly 
in other days borne the sight of a pitched battle, were, during the summer of 1809, in 
the governor's box at the great amphitheatre of Santa Maria, opposite to Cadiz. 
The death of one or two horses completely satisfied their curiosity. A gentleman 
piesent, observing them shudder and look pale, noticed that unusual reception of sc 
delightful a sport to some young ladies, who stared and smiled, and continued their 
applauses as another horse fell bleeding to the ground. One bull killed three horses 
off his own horns. He was saved by acclamations, which were redoubled when it 
was known he belonged to a priest. 

An Englishman, who can be much pleased with seeing two men beat themselves 
to pieces, cannot bear to look at a horse galloping round an arena with his bowels 
trailing on the ground, and turns from the spectacle and the spectators with horror 
and disgust. 



XXXI. 

THE ALBAN HILL. 

*' And afar 
The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean lavea 
The Latin coast," &c. &c 

Stanza clxxiv. lines 2, 3, and 4. 

The whole declivity of the Alban hill is of unrivalled beauty, and from the convent 
on the highest point, which has succeeded to the temple of the Latian Jupiter, the 
prospect embraces all the objects alluded to in the cited stanza; the Mediterranean ; 
the whole scene of the latter half of the iEneid, and the coast from beyond the 
mouth of the Tiber to the headland of Circaeum and the Cape of Terracma. 

The site of Cicero's villa may be supposed either at the Grotta Ferrata, or at the 
Tuscuium of Prince Lucien Buonaparte. 

The former was thought some years ago the actual site, as may be seen from Mid- 
dleton's Life of Cicero. At present it has lost something of its credit, except for the 
Domenichinos. Nine monks of the Greek order live ihere, and the adjoining villa is 
a cardinal's summer-house. The other villa, called Rufinella, is on the summit of 
the hill above Frascati, and many rich remains of Tuscuium have been found 
there, besides seventy-two statues of different merit and preservation, and seven 
busts. 

From the same eminence are seen the Sabine hills, embosomed in which lies the 
long valley of Rustica. There are several circumstances which tend to establish the 
identity of this valley with the " Ustica " of Horace ; and it seems possible that the 
mosaic pavement which the peasants uncover by throwing up the earth of a vineyard 
may belong to his villa. Rustica is pronounced short, not according to our stress 
upon — " UsticcB cubantis." — It is more rational to think that we are wrong than 
that the inhabitants of this secluded valley have chanaed their tone in this word. The 
addition of the consonant prefixed is nothing: yet it is necessary to be aware that 
Rustica may be a modern name which the peasants may have caught from the an- 
tiquaries. 

The villa, or the mosaic, is in a vineyard on a knoll covered with chestnut trees. A 
stream runs down the valley, and although it is not true, as said in the guide books, that 
this stream is called Licenza, yet there is a village on a rock at the head of the valley 
which is so denominated, and which may have taken its name from the Digentia. 
Licenza contains 700 inhabitants. On a peak a little way beyond is Civitella, con- 
taining 300. On the banks of the Anio, a little before you turn up into Valle Rus- 
tica, to the left, about an hour from the villn, is a town called Vicovaro, another 
favoucable coincidence with the Karia of the poet. At the end of the valley, towards 
the Anio, there is a bare hill, crowned with a little town called Bardela. At the 
foot of this hill the rivulet of Licenza flows, and is almost absorbed in a wide sandy 
bed before it reaches the Anio. Nothing can be more fortunate for the lines of the 
poet, whether in a metaphorical or diiect sense : — 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 23^^^- 

" Me quotiens reficit gelidus Digentia rivus, 
duem Mandela bibit rugosus frigore pagus." 

The stream is clear high up the valley, but before it reaches the hill of Bardela looks 
green and yellow like a sulphur rivulet. 

Rocca Giovane, a ruined village in the hills, half an hour's walk from the vme- 
yard where the pavement is shown, does seem to be the site of the fane of Vacuna, 
and an inscription found there tells that this temple of the Sabine Victory was re- 
paired by Vespasian.* With these helps, and a position corresponding exactly to 
every thing which the poet has told us of his retreat, we may feel tolerably secure ol 
our site. 

The hill which should be Lucretiiis is called Campanile, and by following up the 
rivulet to the pretended Bandusia, you come to the roots of the higher mountain 
Gennaro. Singularly enough, the only spot of ploughed land in the whole valley is 
on the knoll where tnis Bandusia rises. 

" . . . . tu frigus amabile 
Fessis vomere tauris 
Praebes, et pecori vago." 

The peasants show another spring near the mosaic pavement which they call 
" Oradina," and which flows down the hills into a tank, or mill-dam, and thence 
trickles over into the Digentia. 

But we must not hope 

" To trace the Muses upwards to their spring," 

by exploring the windings of the romantic valley in search of the Bandusian fountain. 
It seems strange that any one should have thought Bandusia a fountain of the 
Digentia — Horace has not let drop a word of it ; and this immortal spring has in 
fact been discovered in possession of the holders of many good things in Italy, the 
monks. It was attached to the church of St. Gervais and Protais near Venusia, 
where it was most likely to be found, j We shall not be so lucky as a late traveller 
in finding the occasional pine still pendent on the poetic villa. There is not a pine iv 
the whole valley, but tliere are two cypresses, which he evidently took, or mistook, 
for the free in the ode,| The truth is, that the pine is now, as it was in the days oi 
Virgil, a garden tree, and it was not at all likely to be found in the craggy acclivities 
of the valley of Rustica. Horace probably had one of them in the orchard close 
above his farm, immediately overshadowing his villa, not on the rocky heights at 
some distance from his abode. The tourist may have easily supposed himself to 
have seen this pine figured in the above cypresses ; for the orange and lemon trees 
which throw such a bloom over his description of the royal gardens at Naples, unless 
they have been since displaced, were assuredly only acacias and other common gar- 
den shrubs.§ 



XXXII. 
EUSTACE'S CLASSICAL TOUR. 

The extreme disappointment experienced by choosing the Classical Tourist as a 
guide in Italy must be allowed to find vent in a few observations, which, it is asserted 

* IMP. C.£SAR VESPASIANVS 

PONTIFEX MAXIMVS. TRIE. 

POTEST. CENSOR. ^DEM 

VICTORIA. VETVSTATE ILLAPSAM. 

SVA. IMPENSA. RESTITVIT. 

t See — Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto, p. 43 

X See — Classical Tour, &c. chap. vii. p. 250. vol. ii. 

§ '< Under our windows, and bordering on the beach, is the royal garden, laid out in 
parterres, and walks shaded by rows of orange trees." ClassicalTour, &c. chap. 
Ki. vol. ii. oct. 365. ^^^ 



234 HISTORICAL NOTES TO 

without fear of contradiction, will be confirmed by every or.»» who has selected thj 
same conductor through the same country. This author is in lacl one of the most 
inaccurate, unsatisfactory writers that have in our times attained a temporary repu- 
tation, and is very seldom to be tiusted even when he speaks of objects which ne miisl 
presumed to have seen. His errors, from the simple exaggeration to the downright 
mis-statement, are so frequent as to induce a suspicion that he had either never visifed 
the spots described, or had trusted to the fidelity of former writers. Indeed the Clas- 
sical Tour has every characteristic of a mere compilation of former notices, strims; 
together upon a very slender thread of personal observation, and swelled out by those 
decoi ations which are so easily supplied by a systematic adoption of all the conuiion- 
places of praise, applied to every thing, and therefore signifying nothing. 

Trie style which one person thinks cloggy and cumbious, and unsuitable, may be 
to the tast« of others, and such may experience some salutary excitement in plough- 
mg through the periods of the Classical Tour. It must be said, however, that polish 
and weight are apt to beget an expectation of value. It is amongst the pains of the 
damned to toil up a climax with a huge round stone. 

The tourist had the choice of his words, but there was no such latitude allowed to 
that of his sentiments. The love of virtue and of liberty, which must have distin- 
guished the character, certainly adorns the pages of Mr. Eustace, and the gentle- 
manly spirit, so recommendatory either in an author or his productions, is very con- 
spicuous throughout the Classical Tour. But these generous qualities are the loliage 
of such a performance, and may be spread about it so piominently, and profusely as 
to embarrass those who wish to see and find the fruit at hand. The unction of the 
divine, and the exhortations of the moraUst, may have made this work something more 
and better than a book of travels, but they have not made it a book of travels ; and 
this observation applies more especially to that enticing method of instruction convey* d 
by the perpetual introduction of the same Gallic Helot to reel and bluster before the 
rising generation, and terrify it into decency by the display of all the excesses of the 
revolution. An animosity against atheists and regicides in general, and Frenchmen 
specifically, may be honourable, and may be useful as a record ; but that antidote 
should either be administered in any work rather than a tour, or, at least, should be 
served up apart, and not so mixed with the whole mass of information and reflection, as 
to give a bitterness to every page : for who would choose to have the antipathies of 
any man. however just, for his travelling companions ? A tourist, unless he aspires 
to the credit of prophecy, is not answerable for the changes which may take place in 
the country which he describes ; but his reader may very fairly esteem all his political 
portraits and deductions as so much waste paper, the moment they cease to assist, 
and more particularly if they obstruct, his actual survey. 

Neither encomium nor accusation of any government, oi governors, is meant to be 
nere offered ; but it is stated as an incontrovertible fact, that the change operated, 
either by the address of the late imperial system, or by the disappointment of every 
expectation by those who have succeeded to the Itahan thrones, has been so con- 
siderable, and IS so apparent, as not only to put Mr. Eustace's antigallican philippics 
entirely out of date, but even to throw some suspicion upon the competency and can- 
dour of the author himself. A remarkable example may be found m the instance of 
Bologna, over whose papal attachments, and consequent desolation, the tourist pours 
forth such strains of condolence and revenge, made louder by the borrowed trumpet of 
Mr. Burke. Now Bologna is at this moment, and has been for some years, notori- 
ous amongst the states of Italy for its attachment to revolutionary principles, and was 
almost the only city which made any demonstrations in favour of the unfortunate 
Murat. This change may, however, have been made since Mr. Eustace visited 
this country ; but the traveller whom he has thrilled with horror at the projected 
stripping of the copper from the cupola of St. Peter's, must be much relieved to find 
that sacrilege out of the power of the French, or any other plunderers, the cupolabe- 
ing covered with lead.* 

If the conspiring voic« of otheiwise rival critics had not given considerable currency 
to the Classical Tour, it would have been unnecessary to warn the reader, that how- 

* " What, then, will be the astonishment, or rather the horror, of my reader, when 1 

inforiii him the French Committee turned its attention to Saint Peter's 

^ind employed a company of Jews to estimate and purchase the gold, silver, and bronze 
that adotn the inside of the edifice, as well as the coppe that covers the vaults and 
lome on the outside." Chap. iv. p. ISO. vol. ii. The story about the Jew s posi 
-ively dchied at Rome. 



CANTO THE FOURTH. 235 

ever it may adorn his library, it will be of little or no service to him in his carriage 
Slid if the judgment of those critics had hitherto been suspended, no attempt would 
have been made to anticipate their decision. As it is, those who stand in the relation 
of posterity to Mr. Eustace may be permitted to appeal from contemporary praises, 
and are perhaps more likely to be just in pioportion as the causes of love and hatred 
are the farther removed. This appeal had, in some measure, been made before the 
above remarks were written ; for one of the most respectable of the Florentine pub- 
Ushers, who had been persuaded by the repeated inquiries of those on their journey 
southwards to reprint a cheap edition of the Classical Tour, was, by the concurring 
advice of returning travellers, induced to abandon his design, although he had already 
arranged his types and paper, and had struck off one or two of the Hrst sheets. 

The writer of these notes would wish to part (like Mr. Gibbon) on good terms 
with the Pope and the Cardinals, but he does not think it necessary to extend the 
same discreet silence to their humble partisans. 



LB Mr '05 



